Hot Rods What was your closest call to disaster while driving vintage car

1958, Santa Clara, Ca. (pre-Silicon Valley days)
My buddy Mike had a nice '34 Five window, full fendered, aged red paint....060" over 59-A Merc flathead, '39 box, dropped axle, juice brakes. Named "The Red Devil" on both doors, "California Kid style"...
Mike sold it to a guy in South San Francisco, (I didn't have the bucks, but wanted it. We were 16 at the time) a week later the guy calls Mike and says 'If you want this thing back, you can have it for 60 bucks'
Mike got our friend Larry to come over with his nice black '49 Olds Tudor, we'd go get the '34 with my 25 foot chain. Larry just finished putting a one piece '50 Olds windshield in, glad to help...
Got there, the right rear axle was broken, inboard...had to tow it.
We hooked up the chain, about 20 feet of slack (!) Mike was gonna steer the Coupe, we got back on El Camino Freeway (101) back toward Santa Clara...traffic was passing us pretty fast, so Larry took us up to 45...or so...
We were across from Moffet Field, (Sunnyvale) and "WHUMP!" I turned around, the '34 was off the edge of the shoulder, sideways, no right rear wheel in sight, Larry braked the Olds, there was a telephone pole Larry just missed, then Mike was alongside on my side, going backwards. (I can still see him, with the Pall Mall cig hanging out of his mouth...) then, the chain had caught the pole, and Mike's '34 slammed into Larry's Olds. Side-by-side. I was looking at Mike, 20" away, where he slid into the passenger's side of the '34 seat.
We got out, and Larry said, "Sheee-it, look." Mike's Coupe had blown Larry's right front tire...We hiked back and found Mike's reversed Merc wheel and tire, with 16" or so of axle, broken near the middle.
Larry had an Olds jack, (old G.M. 'double action' bumper jack, remember those? click it up with handle, it catches. Now push down on handle, and it gains another.)
We jacked the '34 first, pushed the wheel on, and pushed the car ahead, toward the back of Larry's Olds.
Now Larry and I jacked up the Olds, replaced flat with the spare. I started to jack it down...Larry said, "Wait, watch this."
He started a stroke down with the tire iron handle, then let go. Ha! The handle's weight started an automatic double process, 'Hink-a, hink-a, hink-' then the handle flew out of the jack, high up...end-over-end, we stood and watched, like the 3 stooges...'til the hndle came down pointed end first. Right through Larry's new windshield!
It was a few minutes, but Larry finally laughed...we did too, but nervously.
We hooked back up, (there was a fenders-and-running board red dent in Larry's black Olds, but we slowly accelerated, me watching out the side window back, to see if the wheel tried to leave again.
8 miles and we made it to my Grandma's large Santa Clara home, where I lived.
2 days later, Grandma loaned me $85 to buy the 'Red Devil'. Whew!
I had it fixed in a coupla days.
Locked the rear end, (smart...) but was short on rear end parts, and $$$.

 

My closest call came in my Corvette. I had recently rebuilt the 350 and was impressed with how it could go 150 MPH with little trouble. Well, heading home one afternoon on a 4 lane road I was familiar with I decided to punch it. So, doing 150 according to my speedometer I was heading east over the hill when some guy heading west pulled out in front of me. He was making a U turn out of a median crossover. I hit the brakes and tried to avoid him. By the time I arrived at his rear end, luckily he was in the right lane, I was in the left lane standing on my brakes. I missed his rear bumper by about a foot and I was still doing well over 70 as I passed him.
I went home, changed my underwear and never did that again.

 

In my ‘29 at Tri-State hotrod revival. Staged/stalled up just waiting for lights to drop when brake linkage snapped. 1.5 seconds away from trying to stop from 115 mph with no brakes. I’ll just say God was looking down on me that day for sure.

 

Driving my old CJ5 to work. I had just let off the gas and was about to brake when I noticed something on my right. It was a complete wheel and tire passing me on the shoulder. Still coasting myself the tire got about 3 or 4 car lengths ahead and hit the guardrail. It was then I noticed something familiar, it was mine. Pulled over, came to a stop retrieved the wheel and had it towed home. Right rear snapped axle at the plate. Vehicle stayed up right even at rest.

 

About 30-years ago, my wife & I were out cruising the backroads in our '37 Chevy coupe. I was heading towards a 'T' intersecting and just started to apply the brakes and my fast foot went right to the floor. A fairly new Corvette was making a left onto the road I was on, I yelled to my wife "Down shift', I pushed in the clutch for her and grabbed the e-brake and stopped a couple of feet before impact. She had been paying attention and knew what to do. All the years 'running main street with my arm around her and her shifting, while I clutched, really paid off that day.

I had never gotten around to changing the single M/C, but I limped back home, using the e-brake to slow & stop. A new dual M/V & brake lines / hoses / wheel cylinders all got replaced before I drove it again.

 

1975 a punk ass 16 year old kid got his first Set of mag wheels. Aluminum slots. 8”wide rears and 6” wide fronts. Stuck them on a OT Chevelle SS and was styling. A week or so later I’m cruising down the interstate at 75-80 and get a pretty good shake going on. Pull to the side and take a look. No flat tires so what’s going on? Look closer And notice there are NO lug nuts on either rear wheel. The drums had settled on the off set and producing the shake. Front wheels had just a couple lug nuts. Counted my blessings and walked a couple miles to the junkyard I was on my way to. Got a wrecker and 2 scabs on wheels to get me home. Last set of mags I ever put on a car. Only steel for me.

 

300 miles from home driving my 39 Ford pickup, pulling a heavily loaded trailer, I was only going 55 but with that much weight, you cant stop, you can only slow down. The road made a 90 degree curve to the left and I couldnt see around the curve. There is a side road coming into the curve almost straight ahead on the right. An idiot woman turned right from that side road right in front of me. She didnt stop for her stop sign, she didnt even slow down and she never looked in my direction. My only choice was the left lane and hope no one was coming. As I passed her I could see she was driving with one hand and had a cigarette in her left, held pointing straight up.

 

Back in the late 1960's my buddy had a 55' Vette we put a heavily modified 327 Chevy in it. We were crusing the main drag in Ocean City, Md. and got into it with a modified 57' Bel Air. We proceeded to dust him badly at the next light. Words were exchanged and we were asked if we wanted to try it again with his other car for some money. We said hell yes, and followed them over the bridge out of O.C. to a farm not too far away. We are sitting in the dirt drive way and they run to a barn, fire up a 37' or 38' Chevy coupe. No tags, lights mufflers, a real drag car. We then follow them back out on the back roads till we pair off. Three of us jammed in the Vette, a basketball sized hole for the shifter between my legs. We a both going at it and begin to pull away from them thinking we are going to dust their asses again as the coupe starts to fall behind. At speed we approach the tee intersection and realize we are about to leave the road and plow thru a farm field and the end of the tee. The only reason we survived is we rode the groves in the plowed field thru the growing corn. The fuckers left us covered in dirt that came up thru the hole in the floor shitting in our jeans. We walked miles to the highway and finally got a tow truck to pull the Vette back to the road. To this day, I still am amazed we lived to go on to other stupid stunts, but never as scary as that night.

 

My buddy and I were both 18. We got hooked up with a couple chicks that lived about 30 miles away from us. We were making that 30 mile one way trip nearly every night for about a month or so. We would change off who drove each night, him one night, me the next.

We each still lived with our parents at the time, his were pretty lenient, mine a bit more strict. The rule at my house was I had to be home by midnight if I wanted to get into the house, but I think it was more that dad had to get up early and didn't want me waking him up if I came home at all hours of the night then for any other reason. I was usually pretty good, usually home before 12:30. If it got later then that, I'd hear about it in the morning.

So it was my turn to drive. We had a route laid out that was mostly back hard surface country roads with one small town we would just catch the edge of. Driving time at the speed limit was a 30 minute trip, but how many 18 year olds drove the speed limit? We sure didn't. My off topic Buick could run 115 wound out. That night we left the girls' town about 10 minutes to midnight, I was going to be late, no way around it. We were on the straight pretty level stretch of road and I had the Buick would up tight, we were a little more then 1/2 way home. My buddy was sleeping on the front seat next to me. We hit a bump on the road, and my headlights flashed, for just an instant, something that looked out of place. My brain said hit the brakes HARD, which I did. I hit them so hard, my buddy slid off the seat and onto the passenger side floor! No longer sleeping, he was asking what the hell we were stopping for? I told him I didn't know, something must be on the road ahead. We both could now see that whatever it was, we were approaching it very quickly, but we didn't know what it was! The Buick had great brakes, but they were working hard, the tires were screaming at the edge of loosing traction, and we were slowing down very fast, but the still unidentifiable object was getting closer and bigger every second. It was pretty obvious we were not going to stop in time, but it appeared the object was in the right lane. I swerved into the left lane, and we went past the object at about 2x the speed it was moving. As we were screaming past it, we could see it was a farm tractor with a hay rack full of hay! The tractor had one small light facing forward we couldn't have seen from behind. The thing that we believe I saw flash in my headlights was the little reflective orange triangle slow moving sign on the back of the hay rack. That sign was mounted up pretty high on the back of the rack, we couldn't even see it again until we were going past the rack.

What farmer would bring a hay rack full of hay home from the field at midnight?

Anyway, we made it home alive, a bit late for me, but still alive. I believe both of us stopped dating those girls shortly after that event. A year later I ended up marrying my buddy's sister. Last May we celebrated our 44th wedding anniversary. Gene

 

Coming home to the Grand Canyon from Flagstaff one night in my Chevy 11 . I had gotten off the interstate at Williams because the highway was closed due to snow .
Just got back up to speed when a full grown bull Elk decided to cross the road in front of me.
I had just installed new halogen headlights and if it hadn't been for them I would have never seen that Elk. It would have been like hitting a cow at 70 mph.
I am sure the sheetmetal wouldn't have stopped that Elk from coming through the windshield.

 

Back in the 80s, I was building a '33 5W that I found in Manchester, NH. Old hot rod. My buddy Dick and I were going to York, PA to the Nats with it and the day before we were to leave I was still finishing the car. Friday came and off we went with a car that had zero miles post rebuild. It was raining and we got to CT about 9pm or so. I chose to find a motel, tired of driving 65 mph in the dark and rain. When we found a motel, the car wouldn't turn correctly, had to back up and try several times to get on the motel road. Once we parked, a once over of the suspension showed the drag link was holding on by only one or two threads. The jam nut had never been set on it! Dick sat on the curb and wouldn't talk to me for a half hour. The thought of the drag link falling off at speed in the dark and rain is still something that gives me shivers.

 

So many to choose from! Hay wagon reminds me. One night I'm flying low in my OT 69 Impala 396. I'm on my way to work on the back road to Las Cruces, running thru the pecan orchards. I see the headlights of a car way down the road. All of a sudden those "lights" turn into one small square light on the back of the biggest blue tractor I've ever seen. Swerved, I swear I coulda reached out and touched his tire thru the passenger window. Happened so quick I didn't have time to think til after.

Sent from my LG-TP450 using The H.A.M.B. mobile app

 

In Saluda, driving on slick dirt roads were a part of growing up. If you can do that, you can drive in snow with no problem. Hello Mr. Yonce. I'm Rock Able from Saluda. As we always said, you can't go anywhere in the world without meeting someone from Saluda!

Back on topic. I've been rear ended in a Porsche 356 that I spent 3 years restoring and front ended in my 54 Chevy. I hope I don't have any more left in me, as almost all of my cars are hard to find parts for.

 

Most likely the close call I never saw !

 

HA , You know all roads lead to Saluda right?

 

Back in the day, around 1970 in my 64 Impala SS, hopped up 327, 4 speed, 4:88 gear, street slicks, drag racing a buddy on a road I did not know, As I hit 4th gear the red lights came on chasing us, buddy turns off, I go straight, at around 100+ mph I see the T intersection sign/stop sign warning, tried to slow down, made the decision to go straight off road into the cornfield, pretty exciting ride, doors, trunk, hood popped open and I will never forget, Sheriff over his loudspeaker " Lock her up Buddy, You are going to jail" surprisingly the car had only minor damage. Sold this car immediately after court and bought a normal driver car to keep myself out of trouble.

 

It was not yet a vintage car just an old car but in about '69 or so I was riding my '55 Ford down the rail road tracks and the dash clock had stopped. So our train schedule was wrong (actually the train was right on time). I sped up trying to get to a crossing so I could get off the tracks. On my right was onion fields and on my left was the highway, both about the same distance below the tracks. We ultimately decided that the onion fields was gong to be the softest landing. I don't think the train ever even slowed down.

The farmer got out of bed and pulled us out of the field. We went back the next morning and cleaned up our mess.

 

About 4/5 years ago, my wife was driving us to a car show with her 51 Buick Roadmaster on I 39 and fortunately she/we realized we had no brakes, pedal to floor before we came off a ramp at speed. Long story short, slowed, used Ebrake limped off interstate, got to a service station and a flatbed ride home. In the last 25+ years, different cars, the only flatbed ride for a hobby car.

 

A friend of ours pursued ( spel) a gentleman for 5 yesterday to sell him a 55 chevy with only 15, 000 mkles. The ole feller finally gave in and sold him the car. It was in unbelievable condition , everything was Iike new. Dad talked the friend into selling it to him in about 5 minutes. We were at church one Sunday , dad had parked the car behind a row of cars to where if someone backed up , they would broadside it. An older lady started her car , proceeded to back up ,dad first started saying whoa, whoa, as she got closer , he got louder, till finally he added a dammit after the whoa and she heard that . Later, he sold the car and the guy who bought it flipped it on the way to a car show.

 

I had fun in that Hudson last year....going down the Sonora Pass, not having overdrive locked out when I should have. I got stopped somehow, but the brakes were smoking! That put the fear of freewheeling into me. No more problems like that the rest of the trip.

 

1977 driving my newly acquired OT 67 Fairlane convert with 390. Waiting to turn left in traffic, I got my window and hit the gas. what I didn't know was that the left motor mount was broken. So, motor jumped up and began pulling on the throttle linkage, full go! Once I got through the turn I managed to hit the brake pedal hard enough to slam the engine back down to it's broken mount! Needless to say, it was a slow cruise to the parts store.

 

Was 17 in 1965, girlfriend and I were riding in backseat of a 60 Dodge 4 door, friends car, his girlfriend, we were cruising going west on Villard ave by the hospital, 2 guys took off at Teutonia ave going east drag racing, street has a slight curve. I never saw it coming, we were hit head on by a new Mustang. Result, Mustang driver ended up in a wheelchair, his passenger died, My friend/girlfriend, broken bones, concussions, Myself and girlfriend were thrown out of car we were told, I woke up in hospital, cuts, bruises, concussion, no broken bones, girlfriend similar to me, she was hurt the least of us 4. That's as close I've come to dying on the street in a car, now if we talk about 36 years of motorcycles, down 1X hard and way too many close calls, Be Safe, it's scarier than ever out there.

 

Pretty sure I have had several, but reading through the replies here, two come to mind. The first was when I was driving my slightly OT (3 years too new for here) C10 daily and was heading down the highway one day going to my shop. The pickup was lowered and in red primer with flames so I looked like quite the hoodlum. Anyway, some jerk was riding my rear a little too close so to get him to back off, I tapped the brakes a little. Normally, that would have just made it slow down slightly and turn on the brake lights. However, I had just adjusted all four drum brakes the day before, so the truck locked up the tires. Anyway, that seemed to make the guy a little peeved with me enough so that he pulled up next to me and showed me his pistol...

The next one was driving my 52 Chevy sedan that I had just bought and drove home from Chicago a week or so before. My wife and I were headed to a car show about an hour or so away from home when I lost the transmission... Not knowing exactly why it quit pulling, I was downshifting trying to see if something just happened with the linkage or something. We were going 70 or so down a two lane highway and I had just passed two semi's that were going too slow every time we headed up a hill. I finally got the transmission to engage...in 1st gear which is when it went into sliding sideways because the engine couldn't take the rpm it needed to go that fast in first gear. Definitely puckered a little on that one and my wife was not real happy either. Thankfully, I was able keep it under control and didn't get run over by the semi's.

 

About 10 years ago I was driving my 53 Ranch Wagon towing a 49 " Zip " Travel trailer to a show at the Packard proving grounds. The wagon had a 302 with an AOD. Didn't notive I was going a little over 80 when the tail wagged the dog ! Severely ! Somehow saved it after taking up 2 lanes on I-94. Slowed it down after that. My dad bought a new Catalina back in 1963. I had the car one night and tromped the go pedal. Fucking carb linkage went past center and pedal stayed on the floor ! reached down with my hand and pulled the pedal back up. Was afraid to tell dad about it because he would know I floored it. Strange......never happened again !

 

Not driving but towing. Years ago I was bringing home a new to me '40 Ford 1 1/2 ton flatbed dump on a rental trailer with my one ton 4x4 GMC p/u. Got it loaded up and tied down and headed home. It was a short drive to the eastbound I-10 freeway just east of LA. As soon as I merged onto the freeway I saw the trailer tail lights in front of me - not enough tongue weight. I did a 180 and ended up on the shoulder facing the wrong way. Luckily I didn't hit any other cars. I drove off the freeway using an on ramp. I pulled over and changed the trailer tire that blew when I slid into the shoulder berm. After I changed the trailer tire and my shorts I proceeded to drive the 50 or so miles home on surface streets at 25-30 MPH. Definitely an E ticket ride.

 

I posted this on 30 April 2011.

So, its a beautiful day here in New England and I thought it was the perfect opportunity for a ride in the old 38 Plymouth Coupe. I headed out through the back roads enjoying myself to the fullest. Car was running great, life is good. So I thought. A couple of times I heard a noise coming from the clutch. The car kept riding along no problem so I decided to head home; it had been about 45 minutes into the ride. I get on highway 195W and right before my exit (now about an hour into the ride) all hell breaks loose, including my right rear wheel; it had come completely off the car dropped to the ground, mind you I was going about 55 MPH, the poly tank dragged on the ground and within 1 second the car was on fire and I was in it frantically trying to pull it over. Got it to a stop and struggled to get the seat belt off all the while I can see the flames in my side view mirror growing. Finally got the belt off and got out of the car just in time to snap a picture. Called 911 and they sent the fire department. By the time they got there the whole car was engulfed with fire. I feel like crying right now. Good thing I have insurance.

 

Just a couple years ago, building my '35 pickup for our Alaska rally (spoiler - didn't make it) and I took it to the bar to meet up with my girlfriend at the time, first time out for a run that's longer than around the block. The day before my co-driver had been working on it with me, tasked with checking the front end to make sure everything was tight and greased.

I went up to the bar and had a nice time, not too much drinking because the truck was a handful in it's unfinished state. On the way home, I'm driving down an industrial stretch with auto shops all along it, minding my own when all of a sudden the wheel goes slack, I hear a new grinding noise, and I'm headed for a light pole! Tried to steer, but quickly determined that was futile, so I deliberately but slowly hit the brakes - thank god I'd gotten the alignment right! Managed to get it stopped without hitting the pole, and the low curb definitely helped with that.

Turns out my buddy didn't check the cross-link at the pitman arm. Couple good guys helped me push it in front of their shop (glad they were "working" late) and I came back the next day with a spare nut and cotter pin. Drove it home.

 

Why am I still alive?
Gee, which ones do I tell first, and which ones to leave out due to space and time limitations?
Should I tell the one about trailering cross-country my Hawk project car behind my Jeep (sometimes I used my v8 1951 bulletnose to tow) the trailer axle spring mount breaking, and making the trailer tail cross the center line while almost rubbing the guard rail on the right, at the very same time I was crossing a super narrow arched highway bridge when a wide-load truck crested the arch at the same time while hanging over my centerline.
I was prepared to be smashed and pushed over the guardrail into the river.
Luckily, his wide load was a bit higher than my flat trailer, so his "house" passed OVER the top of my trailer and did not contact the Hawk on it. 1977
Or should I tell about the time several yrs ago (early 2000s?) I had to hurry down the highway in my 52
















Stude truck to meet a friend to help cut a tree. I forgot to grab the gas can so I hit the brakes in front of my house, ran down the driveway to grab the can and race off. about 20-25 seconds.
Running down the 2 lane highway, a couple miles down, I see in the distance what MIGHT be a highway sign landing from the sky. what?
About 20-25 seconds I pull up to a van down in the ditch facing the wrong way. I stop to help.
It was a young kid just getting off night shift in the morning.
He said he fell asleep on the way home and ran off the road on the other side, lost control and flew across the road to the other side, took out two 6×6 wooden sign posts and landed at the bottom facing the wrong way.
As I waited with him for a wrecker, I looked at his tracks wayy down the road and followed them across to his eventual landing spot, I saw that we would have crossed paths at highway speed, right in the middle of the road if I had been there anout 20-25 seconds earlier.
If I didn't stop to grab the gas can....

Or the earlier time around 1980 when I was really ripping down the same 2 lane highway on my Widowmaker Kawasaki H2 Triple, which Kawai GUARANTEED to be the fastest bike you could buy anywhere, passing a line of 8-10 "slow moving cars" who were stuck at the 55 speed limit.
(anything under 80 felt sooo doggone slooww)
As I was in the left lane almost flying to the front of the slow moving 55-60 mph pack, car number 2 pulls out to pass, not realizing I was closing really fast.... He took my lane, and there was a deep ditch to my left with a concrete abutment sticking up over a drain tunnel. I thought I was a goner , at least I would find out what it's like to fly thru the air a long long way... As luck would have it, somehow I managed to balance right on the outer white line and not sail off to the Great Beyond. Whew.
I didn't dare slow down to get gawked at, so I rode on as if it was nothing special, but telling myself NEVER AGAIN.
well, not for a little while at least

Or the time I snapped a dana 44 axle on my Avanti Powered 63 Lark when getting too rough with the 4 speed... the wheel and axle stub came right off...

or the time I mashed the throttle on my 57 Chrysler hemi - when I slowed way down for a slow hairpin turn, then mashed it in between hairpins just a couple car lengths between stomp the gas mash the brakes, mash the gas, mash the brakes. Well, after one of the "mash the throttles", the throttle stayed wide open when I was fighting to make the hot brakes keep me from flying off the curve...
I had just enough quick presence of mind to reach for the key while dealing with a real handful of misbehaving Hemi on a curve I almost didnt make.



Too many others to tell right now....

WHY BE ORDINARY ?

 

My wife, baby son and myself went out for an evening cruise in my '69 Corvette.
We decided to stop at a convenience store to pick up a couple of cans of pop but
as we were pulling into the lot of the strip mall a guy made a goofy dash into the
entrance and parking spot and damn near connected with my quarter panel, right where my kid's head was. Of course, I was pissed (being a tough guy and all) and waited for him to come out of the liquor
store that he was hell bent on getting to. When he came out I could tell he was
already half in the bag. I grabbed and stopped him and then saw it was a former
Illinois governor, who I won't name. I had the sense to walk away. Wait...what
kind of big shot governor drives like a '76 Cutlass?

 

I started reading this and was sure that your closet call to disaster was going to be your dad almost killing you for driving his black hot rod down a wet red clay dirt road!