Nighttime, Early 90's in my 55 Chevy, with three of my friends. We're leaving out the exit of a local fast food place, an a 70's ranchero is pulling in the same driveway. My asshole friend starts yelling out shit I won't repeat(cos' it'd make me look even dumber, for even being around this fuckin' idiot) Well as I'm 3/4 of mile down the road, I see headlights coming rather quickly. So I turn down towards where we we're headed & here comes Mr. Whitetrash. He passes me, then stops and gets out. Fuck him, I pass him by and keep going on my way. He then repeats the same thing.. passes me and gets out. This time with a stub nosed revolver pointed at me. So I instantly duck down to my right and notice everyone in the car did the same thing. I wonder what that was like, seeing what looked like an unmanned 55 Chevy, rolling by! I then glanced up to see the all the street poles, and weather or not I was still headed in the right direction. It was then that I started to worry about my fuel pump issues. So I started running lights to get away from this guy. I ended up in this housing development that only has two ways in or out. So I'm coming up on a right turn only, or it's gonna be all guard rail, that's in these peoples front yard. The 55 had had pizza cutter 4.5" Torque Thrust, on the front. M/T 29x16.5x15's in the rear.. So I'm turning the wheel to the right and the car is just pushing straight ahead. I said fuck it and let off the gas, I figured we were gonna crash. All this was happening in milliseconds. So then all the weight went to the front wheels, the rear slid around. I put my foot back in it while correcting the fish tale. Now all I see in my rear view mirror, is the ranchero stalled and the lights keep dimming, as he tried restarting that turd. I will never forget that day.. cos the calamity didn't stop there! True story
Had a 70 monte carlo came w/402 all the options, gages windows doorlocs rearwindow defogger etc., screwed in a 454 out of a 70 Vette, it was oval port, headers pretty fast car. Doing the wheel bearings one nite at the gas station, LF was a little tired looking, figgered piss on it will be OK. Month later coming home from circle track Sunday nite, had a few cocktails, come along side a Chevelle on the freeway, little traffic and I wanted to go, he didn't, 5 miles later LF out wheel bearing blows, bad deal if we were doing the top end thing, had wife and another couple in the car, I was looking in the mirror I'll tell you and not impressed with what I saw.
I was driving down the highway when my brakes failed on my 56 Olds I had at the time. A brake line busted. So I took a visegrip plyers and folded the tip of the brake line, and clamped it tight. Made the trip home (150 miles) with brakes on 3 wheels and air in the lines. Had to pump the brakes at least 3 times to stop the car.
How many people here do not think they need an emergency brake? I admit that at one time I was the worse. Fuck them brake cables and then I would just cut them off. Bad decisions will get you in trouble that you cannot get out. Great thread because safety is everything.
I once changed the rear hogs head in my 55 using the bumper jack on a dirt drive way .I dont for the life of me know why i'm not dead. also saw a guy at the gas station pulling the rear axel from his 57 and puled it off the jack and it landed with his legs pined under the leaf springs. The gas station owner and me picked up the rear corner of that car so he could get out He was not hurt .. damn lucky for us dumb a^&$ kids. Frekin bumper jacks could have killed us... glad I know better now I use cinder block.. JUST KIDIN.hAHAHA
after a few cocktails at the shop we decided to hit the bar. 2 car loads of us possied up as the shop fridge was empty by this time . I figured id be cool and pull the e-brake and slide sideways into the bar parkin lot when the crew was watchin. The car went sideways alright........... at 50 mph.... then up on two wheels. as i was falling into the passenger seat onto my buddies lap... he fought to save his beer. then the rear tire unbeaded and the car spun 360 past the bar. all of this in an 89 hyundai elantra winter car. we laughed at the time.... the next day i was like... " god im an idiot". that was the last time i had a few cocktails when driving. that was 98'.
Was in my ot 67 Pontiac Parisienne on a freeway at night, pitch black middle of nowhere, my brother driving. He'd never driven a car with a floor mounted dipswitch before. We come up on a B-Double Shell fuel tanker truck (1 tractor, 2 trailers) going just a little slower than us and my brother pulls out to go past. He gets past and moves over again and starts stamping on the floor trying to find the switch. Stamps on the brake pedal. Pontiac almost stands on it's nose because the brakes in that thing were the best I've ever had in a car and the car fills with about eight headlights and airhorns from this truck. He blamed the car.
Two near-death experiences in the same story. Part 1. We're drinkin' beer and lookin' for a party in my best friend's winter beater. Early in the mission, his alternator buys the farm. So we go back to his parent's place and "borrow" his Mom's '65 Buick. Back on the road awhile, he has to piss. We pull into a back lane, he hops out and starts watering the weeds. I figger this is a good time to drive away, (leaving him in the cold and total blackness) so I throw a leg over the hump, drop the big tank in low, and punch it. Things are working out as planned until I lift. The goddamned throttle is hung wide open. From the wrong side of the car, I'm furiously stomping the pedal to knock the throttle loose, guiding the battleship with one hand, and searching for the key with the other. I find the key, but whole fucking switch is loose, so I need both hands. 200 ft until the narrow lane comes to a T, throttle still wide open. Fuck. I pull myself across the seat, stomp the brake, get both hands on the loose fucking ignition switch, shut it down, and save myself from an untimely meeting with a power/telephone pole at the end of the lane. Part 2. When I let go of the wheel to get both hands on the switch, the car drifted just enough to stroke an empty steel dumpster. The dumpster took flight, sailed the remaining 50 ft to the "dead end", punched through a wooden fence and crashed into a building. The Buick's bumper was twisted up nicely, and the fender was turned back like a banana peel. His parents wanted me dead. My buddy wasn't too happy either. Fortunately, his Dad knew about the throttle, and my friend buggered up the switch, so we were allowed to keep our nuts.
My brother told me a story about the time he was a truck driver and he had gone to Gilly's bar down in Texas. He got drunk beyond beleafe and later that night while driving down I 10 climed out the drivers window and sat on the roof while driving with his foot through the window. quite a tall tail but true, he swares to it... Now thats really stupid. Must have been something in the water when we were growing up >>>>>
Okay, I have to set the stage for the worst experience of my life. Here goes. I just finished building a new shop accross the street from My house 40X60 with a lean-to. No power yet so I am thinkin I will start organizing and moving stuff from the garage to the new shop. I had been moving some small junk over the last couple of days and even had the wife pull me across the street in the International P/U project and that went well. Fellow HAMBer Chadillac is comin over tomorrow to help with the bigger bulky stuff and get everything out of the way so we can get my 62 Buick that has been on a trailer in the backyard over a year moved to its new home. Well this is where the stupid part starts! I decide that I will move some stuff out of the way and get the Buick over to the shop today, that way when Chadillac gets here the trailer will be empty and we can get right to movin shelves and toolboxes over using the trailer. Well I weed the trailer through all the crap I pilled up out of the way and get it across the street. I have loaded this car on and off the trailer and driven it around the yard several times and loaded and unloaded cars from trailers by my self for almost 40 years without a hitch! Yea right. Okay the Buick interior is gutted and has boxes of new parts piled in it I have been gathering for the upcoming build. The seat is a milk crate. I haven't started it for about a year so connect the battery and start crankin and pumpin. Well I can tell it aint gettin any fuel so I go and get the can. I pour a little in the carb (No air cleaner) and even pour a half gallon in the tank for good measure. Get back in and sit on the milk crate and turn the key it fires right off and I feather the gas a while till it idles on its own. Here is where the really stupid part starts. Okay the windows are all up, cause it has been out in the yard for the last year. I don't roll them down get in the car and proceed to back of the trailer. Of coarse the brakes are just barely workin so I take it real easy. As I start backing up I realize the door may hit the trailer fender and close it just in time. I back off the trailer and coast to a stop about half way into the shop. I then give it a little more gas to get it all the way into the shop and it backfires through the carb, stalls and starts to burn FAST! I look around and realize there are NO window cranks or door handles on the inside of the car! Now I start to panic because the reason I closed the door was because I had lowered the car, but I hadn't fixed all the big holes in the drivers floor yet and smoke was pouring in to the car. Now panic is really starting to elevate. I open the little vent wings to let the smoke out and they are too small to reach through to reach the outside door handle. I try to slam my elbow through the side glass, (boy those things are thick) Its not happening!. I start yelling for help out the vent windows, but there is no one around. At this point I picture me burning to death in this frickin car and my wife and kid finding my chard remains later that day when they wonder why I haven't been back to the house. By this time I am really freakin out and franticly trying to figure out what to do. I start feeling around the doors trying to find the arm to pull inside the door to release it, drivers side first, No luck. The smoke and flames are making it hard to think. I try the passenger side and pull on what felt like the right lever but nothing happens. I am just about to give up and in a final attempt for freedom I Kick the door and it flies open and I jump out!About that time My wife comes out of the house after hearing some faint cry for help, only to see me opening the hood and trying to put out the fires which were all over the motor and on the ground by now. I yell to bring a fire extinguisher and we both realize WE DON"T HAVE ONE! So I tell her to bring a blanket and I keep trying to put it out before it explodes and burns down my new shop as well. It took a while but I got the fire out and my wife says why didn't you call me on your cell! Boy do I feel Stupid and Lucky all at the same time. That was the worst experience of my life, Really makes you think. HOW FRICKIN STUPID I FEEL!
My wife won't let me play with tater cannons for that very reason. Had my entire famly watching while me and my brother fried all the hair off our faces.
Best thread ever!!!! The saxaphone stuck on the anus of an elephant comment was just the best. I'm still chuckling about that.
Some 4X4 friends of mine: Trying to air up some 44" tires on 12" wide rims. They tried starting fluid and throw a match in it to pop it on. Didn't work, tire too stiff and rim too wide. I told them to put a ratchet strap around the center of the tire and as soon as it started taking air, release it. The next day I dropped by and the friend shows me a come-along hanging from the power line, about 50ft from where they were airing up the tires. They decided to use the come-along in conjunction with starter fluid.
1967 (age 14): No license, no brakes, no helmet, no problem! Postscript, 40 years later: still displaying a shocking lack of common sense. Another beer? Yes, I believe I will.
Late one night after consuming too many hops flavored beverages, i went too f--n fast down a street in a subdivision. Unable to make a 90 degree turn (@ 85 mph) i rode across someones driveway and into a field, where i got it stopped with no damage, except to the 5 foot tall weeds. Thank god there wasnt a fence behind those houses. Older now and not as reckless.
few years ago I was changing rear shoes on my 57 dodge D100, and used my impact to put on the lug nuts on my brand new torque thrust 2s. Not knowing that my aircompressor had popped a breaker and did not have anywhere near sufficent air needed to run my impact. so the next day i had bought a Atv and loaded it in the back of my truck made it one block away from home and i thought the quad had fell out of my truck. the 57 bounced up and down violently and made all kinds of noise while making a left turn through an intersection i pulled into the circle k on the corner and saw that my rim was on crooked. and saw that only one lug nut was there and the rest had snapped off at the studs with out any warning (noise, pop, bang, nothing!) went to the other side and saw the onther wheel had also lost a few studs but had not come off yet. today i am still using the rim but it gouged the inside of the wheel up pretty bad.
Flat towed an O/T Pontiac I swapped a buddy. His guy tows it in this big Ford F450 truck and motors right along at 65 or so, 80 odd miles home. Gets it in the shop up there and we find the left rear trailing arm had rotted in two and the rearend was only held on the right side. That was in June -
one night my friend and i are sitting around his parents house with a pony keg and some whacky tobacki..bored high school aged bozos...he tells me his brother, who is in the marine corps, just bought a trans-am while he was home on leave. we meander to the garage and there sits a '73 T/A new BF goodrich radials, beautiful silver paint scheme with "quicksilver" lettered across the rear. He then tells me he knows where the keys are stashed..with a giggle. He comes back into the garage and tosses me the keys..saying we'll just start it and see how it sounds...pretty soon we're loading up the pony keg, and grabbing the proto pipe...we'll just take it for a short putt. no harm in that, right? We return from our couple of laps...we are laughing balls..i basically drifted that car the entire time we are gone...smokin the tires...FUN. my buddy shows a moment of concern..we'd better put it up before we blow it and my ass gets ruined. so, we go back to sitting in the house pounding beers...steve says,"let's do that again!!" this time i run it out onto the two lane highway into the valley, and population. it is usually a 20 minute trip..we did it in about 6. topping 150 mph in the straights...drinking Lowenbrau right from the tap. steve has the interior hot boxed by the time we hit town. from there we headed north bound..i am all about throttle...cruising 130-140...everything is like warp speed..i recall watching the functional shaker hood scoop pop up on the torque side when i was in it and laugh. we quickly start making distance..into the next county..then a town...then straight highway for 15 miles or more..no traffic at 3 AM. we are blasting along and see a pair of tail lights which we are on top of quicker than we are thinking. we both realize that it is a sheriff car. i just pushed the throttle to th wood and blew by him at over 160 according to the 160 mph speedo..the little orange needle was bouncing on the peg. we are crapping, and screaming at eachother. i brake, and slide onto a side street..and kill the lights. we hold our breath. sure enough the sheriff, with no rotators on speeds by..after a few minutes. that was cool, we thought. feeling invincible we continue on..i figure we should take the interstate back. so, we get on I-5 southbound..left lane...all throttle. as we approach light speed again..i realize that all the semis are already in the right lane, and some blow their horns as we fly past them..i laugh..they are digging this! after a short time we have covered the 40 miles to hwy 32..and head east..towards home. there used to be an old steel bridge on hwy 32 at hamilton city..and it was damp out..i slowed a bit (to 100 or so) and then goose the throttle on the deck...the car turns sideways...and we slide, at 100 mph the whole length of the bridge staring at the guardrail. we are yelling"OH SHIT!" in stereo..but then we grab pavement..the car rights its self and we are off. i look over and my buddy is having a mini nervous breakdown..so i hand him the tap. "dude...you gotta pump up the keg...i cant get a drink". we got that pontiac put back...by the grace of God. and passed out. i look back on that...and think...wow. insanity. but what a ride.
"When I was ten, found my Dads stash of WWII live armour piercing Mauser shells - took one down to my "lab" in the basement - knew about center fire vs rim fire - put the shell in a vice to remove the projectile so I could measure and then lay a trail of powder to light like they did in the cartoons - couldn't quite pull the bullit out of the casing with a pliers so decided to tighten the vice just a tad more - BOOOOM!! The shell fired and the bullet went thru the floor above, the livingroom couch, the ceiling the attic and out the roof!" This has my BS meter going off. There's no reason a bullet would have that sort of force behind it when 'fired' from a cartridge with no barrel.
Came across this yesterday, it's an old thread but there are some great "experiences" in there. It did also remind me of one my own unthinking bids for a Darwin Award. I have owned the car in my Avatar since I was 16 years old - but the youngest age to drive a car on the road is 17 in the UK- so it sat in the garage at home for six months. When the great day arrived, I was disappointed to find that the hydraulic brakes on the front axle were not working at all well. Turned out that some wheel cylinders were leaking, and one was seized solid. My minimal pay as an engineering apprentice would only run to new brake linings and rubbers for the brakes; so I had to get the seized piston out to be able to hone the bore and re-rubber the cylinder. The four wheel cylinders only have one piston each, so there was no way to get behind the piston with a drift or such. I decided that if I put bolts and copper washers on the pipe union holes, the expansion of the brake fluid left in the cylinder would push out the piston when I heated it. Holding the wheel cylinder in a vice so it gripped one of the bolt ends, I heated the cylinder with an Oxy-Acetylene torch using a rose nozzle. While applying the heat, I was looking at the piston end from all angles waiting for it to slowly move. What actually happened after a couple of minutes of heating and no movement, the piston simply came out like a bullet, put a dent in one of the steel roof trusses directly above the vice, and then the piston ricocheted around the whole workshop for 5 seconds or so before coming to rest. I had been standing right over the piston moments before. The only good thing about this occurrence (other than not shooting myself in head) was that I was on my own in the workshop at the time, so didn't have to display or confess my stupidity to any of my workmates. Actually, thinking about it, there were two good things; Once I had carefully removed a massive burr on the top of the piston, it worked fine in the newly honed wheel cylinder.
Back in the day, When I was young and dumb I bought a little roadster from the owner of a bus company. It had a cut down 40 Ford chassis, aluminum roadster body, oval egg crate grill, 53 Studebaker tail lights and a very stout flathead with 2 two barrels mated to a three speed floor shift transmission. It only weighed 1950#. It was a pretty fast little car. There was strip of perfectly straight road that we painted a start and finish line on it. One night I raced that little car and had it up to at least 95-100 MPH. After that I drove it straight home and parked it in our garage. The next day after I backed it out of the garage and went about 75 feet when the right front wheel fell off. I can't tell you how many times over the years I've thought about what would of happened if that wheel would have come off at 90+ MPH. I guess the Good Lord had other plans for me.
When I was 18, I probably could have built you a 3 bedroom, 2 car but since I didn't come from a 'car guy' family, I had nothing to do with fixing cars yet. I couldn't get my dad to co-sign for anything nice so I got my hands on a '55 Chevy Bel Air that someone had hacked up enough that I could afford it for one-easy-payment. It had a '57 283cid, 4 barrel, so it was fairly rapid, and a cheap 3-on-the-floor. There was no boot or seal at all on the shifter, just a hole in the floor......... and an exhaust leak. I drove that thing for a year and a half with people always telling me I smelled like exhaust. As an unintended science project, I did learn that Brylcreem sucks up engine smells like a magnet.
In September of 2012 I, along with a group from an old Ford truck discussion board, invited to attend an informal truck meet in SE Kentucky, I live in SE Wisconsin. I planned on driving my total stock '49 Ford F-2 3/4 ton truck the 800 miles. I spent the summer repairing and replacing worn steering, motor and brake parts. My wife and I left on a Wednesday afternoon planning to arrive in Kentucky Friday afternoon. Because the truck is stock with flat 6 engine and heavy duty, non-synchronized transmission we had to take side road, not the interstate. It was a fun drive. When we got into Kentucky we started driving hilly back road through little towns. It was a bit of a challenge driving the winding hilly roads in the truck but I managed. My wife was my navigator and used a paper map as our guide. She kept telling me to follow Hwy 421. Every time I came to a turn in the road and the sign indicated 421 went this way or that she told me to follow it. We got to a point down in a deep valley and stopped at an intersection and my wife said, "Oh, oh." I asked what the "Oh,oh" was about. She informed me we missed a turn about 50 miles back and we were off course. I took her I didn't want to go back over the curvy, winding roads we just were on. She said we didn't have to, we could stay on 421 and it curved back around and we could get on another road and end up at our distination. I looked at the "421" sign and then looked at the road as it wound up in a series of S's as it went up a very high mountain. I remember very distinctly telling her I didn't like it. I started up the mountain and about halfway up I started losing power and had to downshift the the tranny of the truck to get it up the rest of the way up the mountain. I finally got to the top and saw a sign with a silhouette of a truck going down hill with an 8° warning. I told my wife I didn't know what 8° meant but if it was posted it couldn't be good. I started going down the mountain and the truck started to gain speed. I tried to slow the truck using a combination of lightly tapping the brakes and the engine/tranny to slow it down. The engine is worn with low compression so the engine braking wasn't working and the brakes started to get hot. I found a place about halfway down to stop but then the engine started overheating. I started again and made down the mountain with the brake pedal resting on the floor. I was never so scared in my life. Later I found out I had gone over the highest mountain in the area. It scared the hell out of me but made for a great story I can tell for the rest of my life.
Around 1981 I was about 13 and really starting to get into girls. There is a nice park at the intersection of the two main roads in my little hometown (with one of the towns two traffic lights). The road runs slightly downhill along the side of the park. I was on my 10speed heading over to a friends house to get into some sort of mischief and I am riding along next to the park when I notice 2 girls playing Frisbee in the park. These were no ordinary girls, oh no, ...these were older girls, these were visions of beauty in short shorts and these tops (tube tops I think they are called) that are like a wide strip of elastic holding the twins in, and up, ...against all laws of reason and physics. This of course caught my eye... watching these girls run after that Frisbee I was sure that I was going to get a free peep show at any second. I sat up in the saddle of my trusty steed (huffy 10 speed) took my hands off the handle bars and was watching with great intensity. The rest of the world just melted away as I just knew there was no way that tiny bit of fabric could contain that mass for much longer. and then.... BAMMM I run into the back of a greyhound bus waiting for the light at the intersection. I hit the bus so hard the driver got out thinking a car had bumped into the bus. The head tube welds on my bike were cracked at the down and cross tubes. The rim was bent almost at a 90 degree angle. When I could think clearly again I looked up and there was a clean spot down the back of the bus where I slid down and cleaned the soot off. My nose was bleeding and I was sore all over. For the next week or so I had black and blue lines on my forehead, cheek, shoulder, and chest from where my skin squeezed through the louvers on the bus engine cover. Of course, the girls finally noticed me and come over to investigate. So there I am lying in the street covered in soot with a bloody nose and a totally broken ego. The bus driver and one of the bus passengers are helping me get unwrapped from my bike and get me on my feet. I just tucked my tail between my legs, put my bike on my shoulder and limped away. And I have been having about the same luck with women ever since...LOL
23 years old, new to Hawaii and surfing. Paddled out into some big waves, caught one and went flying down the face of the wave, the wave curled and hit me from above shoving me down deep under the water. Out of breath, my lungs were burning and my mind was telling me not to breath, but I couldn't stop my body from taking that breath under water. I blacked out, gone, done! I woke up coughing and spitting water out of my lungs with my arms draped over my surfboard, nobody around, all alone. To this day I have no idea how I survived. Gives me chills just thinking about it. Aaron
The Jalopy Journal
