VOTE SCOTTY IN 2016

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Competition improves the breed? To a point. A point now long gone. Maybe we should just run Time Only for a while, fellow Americans... (Scotty shot)

Other than a chronic case of stagefright, I'm pretty stoked about my September 27th live solo gig at the Henry Gregor Felsen Memorial Car Show in Des Moines, Iowa. I'll be playing acoustic versions of the songs slated for the 3rd Scotty Gosson Combo album. Stage jitters tend to bring out the wiseass in me, so I'm bound to make some lame attempt at a presidential campaign announcement. It's apparently what one does in Iowa.

God only knows how I'll feel about it on the 27th, but if nominated today, my platform would be based on two simple points. Yes, I can be just as simplistic as The Trump. Like him, I have no clue how I would actually accomplish these goals, but here they are:

1. Abolish the party system. The us-versus-them perspective so pervasive in our society has brought us to the brink of collapse. It quit working for us way before our lessons learned with the Civil War. Now drastic measures are required to assure that we're truly all in this together. Voting during my term would parallel the state system, with an annual national ballot of issues. Elections and measures would both be decided by popular vote. Say goodbye to Lobbyists, Congress, House of Reps, Department of Redundancy Department, etc. The initial plan was to replace these parasites with robots, but with the people's vote, we won't even need robots (though they may replace law enforcement and military personnel).

2. Eliminate the Haves and Have-Not discrepancy, via a flat tax. This sets the scene for perhaps the most radical change of all: An across-the-board "comfortable living wage". Every American, regardless of race, creed, sex, or power-adder of choice, would make the exact same hourly wage. Work more, make more. Work less, make less. Period.

The above changes should re-establish a genuinely United States of America. It would also save our country enough money to easily finance Stage Two of my brilliant plan: A term-long moratorium on non-emergency foreign affairs. No invading countries, hopping into bed with countries, telling countries how to do their business, and generally meddling with everyone's business but our own. For one term (length determined by popular vote), we become Switzerland, and address the corrosive issues we've been avoiding at all costs, such as racism, sexism, gun control, infrastructure, education, poverty, immigration, climate change, mental illness, veterans affairs, environmental responsibility, senior care, and childcare, to name only a few. We must also address our shameful lack of drag strips in this country. 

Yeah, I live in a cartoonie fantasy world, just like the current poll leader. Is it possible for Joe Toolbox to make any impact on the election? Dare he dream of stealing it away from Monty Burns? What say ye, registered voters? See you in Iowa.

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UPDATES:

SGE Corporate Correspondent Elana Scherr is on assignment this week

Keeping a low profile, somewhere on the Drag Week trail. (Photo courtesy of hotrod.com)

Last week, master fabricator and all-around hot rod legend Marty Strode showed us how he scratched out the .095" wall 7/8" O.D. DOM front radius rods for Pat Ganahl's Spalding Special recreation. Join Marty today for the rest of the story.

The radius rod gussets we showed you last week were merely aluminum templates. Marty knocked out these steelies with his plasma cutter and buzzed 'em in.

And the finish-welded junction at the rear of the assembly.

One last admiring look before freeing the radius rad from the jig. Note: No cute stuff in Marty's shop. Just what works.

Hey Marty, wanna narrate this for the kids? "The completed radius rods, installed on the chassis for mock-up. When the spread of the front mounting is finalized (the torsion bar arms and lever shocks will dictate the proper location), I'll roll the proper caster (seven degrees) into the front axle, and tack-weld the brackets. The next step will be the mock-up of the 'live' quickchange rearend, and building the chrome moly rear radius rods." Thanks Marty! Check Ganahl's mock-up version of his 292" GMC six. This thing is already so cool... (Photos courtesy of Marty Strode)

SGE Eastern Europe correspondent Maria Panova has been busy...

... she got a new shirt. My Russian is a little rusty, but I believe this says, "Vote Scotty in 2016".

A recent trip to Thailand netted these new shoes and ankle bracelet.

And last weekend, Maria blew the end off of the turbo inline 6 in her eight second Toyota Soarer during a failed boost/nitrous experiment at the track. She survived the explosion without injury, but popping the hood revealed a five-cylinder engine...

 ... so it's back to the old grind to hustle up funds for another block. (Photo courtesy of Sharp Shotz)

Luckily, Maria loves her work and is very good at it. (Photos courtesy of Maria Panova)

Shocking news from America's leading man, Shawn O'Brien: His iconic '59 Chevy Parkwood wagon is up for sale. No explanation and no details yet, but Shawn can be found on Facebook and the HAMB. The Parkwood has been thoroughly road tested, and passed with flying colors. (Photo courtesy of Trent Sherrill)

                   

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SQUIRREL AND TOOLBOX

Just a reminder. Be sure to vote for someone next year, or lose your whining rights.

We've mentioned David Belau's blog here before (https://dartslantsix.wordpress.com/). David recently revealed this generic rollaway (with what appears to be a Snap-On top box) to be the key to his successful grassroots Mopar builds. David's dad scored the unit at a yard sale. Bonus points for the One Eyed Jack Vader magnet. Rare! (Photo courtesy of David Belau)

GRIN

Be a patriotic rebel! Get Go Power! Vote Scotty in 2016!


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ROAD TESTING THE CHRYSLER 200

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It's time to merge with the herd. I'm trying. I really am. If it happens, it'll be a slow process.

Last week at the dentist, I found a year-old copy of Autoweek in the waiting room. It featured a nice profile on Jim Marshall's photography of famous rock stars and their cars. After reading (and enjoying) the feature, I browsed the magazine and realized it was a special edition, bought and paid for by Chrysler Corporation to showcase their 2014 performance car lineup. Other than the Marshall piece, it was one big Chrysler advertisement. I winced, but lightly scanned over the effusive cup holder and electronics praises before tossing the thing in the trash (you're welcome, fellow dental pain sufferers). It turned out to be a sign.

While I can't be bought as easily as the Autoweek staff, I can be rented. In the midst of last week's juggling act, one more ball was tossed into the mix when I received a Mayday call from San Francisco. My girlfriend Shellski had brought her dog Rosie to the Bay Area with her, and the move we both believed would simplify the logistics of the trip backfired. Shellski was dealing with life-and-death family issues, and Rosie had become a liability. So I was drafted to bring the dog back home to Oregon.

As usual, I was as broke as an author can get, so Shellski had to pay for a rental car (as my beater is not to be trusted past its five mile fuse). Thus was presented my initiation into the car rental experience. The first day designated for the trip was spent crawling through a labyrinth of financial and insurance regulations, and passed without progress. Thanks to an assist from our pal Nurse Newman, the red tape was finally overcome on Day Two. I hit I-5 Southbound at the crack of 11:00 AM in a 2013 Chrysler 200 4-door sedan. By far, the newest car I've ever driven.

My first rental car deserves my first car review, so here we go. This reviewer finds the 200's styling to be wretchingly pedestrian, but for the ghastly grille, obviously sketched up by a former Gillette employee. A previous renter must have slammed it hard into a curb, as the left front shook like a hula girl in an earthquake from 60 to 77 MPH. I hit the first rest area on I-5 to check it out, then decided the violence was the only interesting aspect of the car, plus I was curious to learn how far it could go like that. I never once had to stir my coffee.

Popping the hood exposed this lump of plastic, boasting two VVT's. I guess that's twice as good as just one. It also has almost two and a half  L's. I'm now assuming this is the engine, though I first thought it to be an air conditioner. The carb, mag, and headers were completely hidden, which is pretty slick. That plastic head must be half the weight of an aluminum one! Kudos to Mopar for that. 

We car reviewers love to drone on about interiors. I like the clock. One must assume the shifter controls a Torqueflight, but the converter is way too tight on this thing for anything but freeway flight. I figured out the cruise control okay, but rarely found enough open road to enjoy it. It had stereo cup holders. The radio worked good. No cassette or even an eight track player though. Oh, the seats were comfy. As with the engine compartment, all interior rollcage tubing was cleverly hidden from view. Pretty impressive work, that.

I'd never heard of Chrysler's 200 before. My guess is this is a downgraded 300, which is supposed to be some kind of luxury/sport hybrid (I think). So when I saw the "200" badges and floormats, I was shocked that I'd rented a 200 MPH car. Or even a 200 MPG car. Or one of 200 made. But it turns out that "200" means "100 times less interesting than a 300". 

Initially refreshing, retro-deco styling now annoys me. I found this decklid badge and the clock to be marginally acceptable, if only because they break up the endless expanses of lame predictability.

I photographed this vehicle at every rest stop and failed to find its good side, or even an unawkward angle. Worst styling fail ever. And the details: Like everything from tennis shoes to reading lamps, must every modern object emulate a spaceship? Unnecessary head and tail light swoops are typical red flags. Has Trendy ever magically morphed into Timeless? Why polish a turd? Does Chrysler not have enough of a budget to start over when something isn't working? Um, they must have noticed this wasn't working, right?

I've always believed cars look their best at speed, and/or when shot from overhead. Sure enough, after scaling a trash can before stunned tourists, this is the least offensive angle of the 200. And it's still awful. The Ford pickup pulled in just as I clicked the shutter. Doh!

Ah, much better without the car. An action shot of California's majestic Central Valley (complete with dust-blowing tractor, which looks twice as good as the 200).

The return trip. Meet Rosie. She found the 200 to be luxuriously plush, quiet, and supple, even while wheezing up I-5 at 80 MPH with one wheel flopping. While I nervously anticipated the driveshaft's inevitable spearing of the trans tunnel, Rosie dozed for the entire six hour run and awoke absolutely refreshed. BONUS: I took this shot over my shoulder at speed, certain that it would be a blurred mess. Happy surprise!

Strange sights in the California sky. Media gripe #37,986: Does a meteor crashing into the city beyond the hills really need an exclamation point over it to make it dramatic? Great freeway shot I didn't get: A new black Corvette, tiptoeing back from Willows Raceway while stuck in first gear. It was doing about 25 MPH at an estimated 6,000 RPM with a long line of traffic behind it. I passed it three times that day. So the 200 can be considered a Corvette slayer. Why the snarky attitude regarding the 200? Because the snootier the review, the more credibility people read into it (a trick I learned from Mick LaSalle). In reality, I couldn't care less. I'm just happy to have Rosie back home. (Scotty shots)


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Marty Strode's construction of Pat Ganahl's Spalding Bros. tribute roadster is underway. This week: Front radius rods. Above is the original design.

Follow along kids, as Marty fabs a brand new set of hairpin radius rods, the Spalding way. Things are simple enough at the starting line, but how to blend the two tubes tastefully together? Rather than reinvent the wheel, Marty left the cute stuff on the table and followed the Spalding's beads.

Eyeballing the intersection. Look both ways before crossing that line...

... then cut like the wind with your bandsaw. 

Clamp and weld.

Add snappy gusset. Weld and grind to taste. Repeat. Marty already has a good start on the rails. Tune in next week to see a rolling chassis in action. Or maybe not. It'll be a surprise. (Photos courtesy of Marty Strode)

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SQUIRREL AND TOOLBOX

Motormouth Ray's pals Honda John and Karen have discovered the perfect squirrel bait. They can't resist peanut butter, but it has to be Jif Creamy. You heard it here first. (Photo courtesy of Honda John and Karen)

This week's toolbox is a special return appearance of Frozen Bohemian's Cuda Bait three-drawer. Attention Chrysler executives: Note simplicity of design, allowing attitude to emanate from clean execution of crisp styling. Honesty trumps Pretense every time, whether car, toolbox, or tennis shoe. (Photo courtesy of Frozen Bohemian)

GRIN

Full disclosure: The author's point of reference for design and styling. As always, consider the source.

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JUGGLING AS FAST AS I CAN

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Sorry for the quick read this week. We hope to have the blog hitting on all eight again by next week. But since you like to read (and God bless you for that)...

Researching like a dog, in a desperate attempt to wrap up the latest Cartech book. This one started as a long anticipated love affair, then soured, as love affairs often do. The extra work will make the book and I both even stronger. But it's been all-consuming work, resulting in more stress and less blogging for the fourth week in a row. Pray for me dear friends. (Shellski photo courtesy of Gosson Bros. Racing Library)

You've read this one, right? Good. Because in lieu of actual blog content, I'm redirecting you to https://www.facebook.com/scottygossoncombo, where you can discover what this cryptic clue has to do with anything. What a fun treasure hunt! If you haven't read the Henry Gregor Felson books, shame on you for calling yourself a hot rodder! (Image courtesy of Bantam Books)

Here's a pretty picture to keep you calm. See you next time! (Photographer, date, location and subject unknown. Any ideas?)

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NITRO SKINNER

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Bob Skinner preps The Surfers AA/Fuel Dragster for action somewhere in America, in the midst of the most improbable-yet-mercurial run of success and hilarity in drag racing history. Bob appears different from the other guys in this photo. There's a reason for that. (Photo courtesy of Bob Higginson collection)

The people that have wandered in and out of my life tend to be an eclectic lot. For better or worse, they arrive from all walks of life - most via providence, some out of curiosity, and several by mistake. More than half are hot rodders of various disciplines. Yet several of my non-rodder friends also read this blog. I have no idea why.

The rodders are well versed in drag race lore. To them, this post will be old news. Ancient history. Except for this latest jolt to our little village at the edge of the real world: Bob Skinner has died.

A brief biography for my uninitiated friends: Bob Skinner and his pals Tom Jobe and Mike Sorokin comprised "The Surfers" Top Fuel dragster team. Drag racing's equivalent of The Beatles, the Surfers were equally charismatic, driven, and (relatively) successful. At turns visionary and pranksterish, they disrupted the status quo with a contagious glee. The Surfers were the Marx Brothers and the Wright Brothers. The exactly right brothers for the time. For the definitive account, seek out "The Epic Saga of The Surfers: The Southern California Exploding Inevitable", by Cole Coonce. The fairy tale ends on the most tragic note imaginable. At that point, Bob Skinner walked away from it all, and reinvented his life in the same fashion that he helped reinvent the very perception of nitromethane combustion theory.

Bob Skinner was found dead under his pickup truck in his California garage last week. His body had been there for three days. There was no sign of injury or foul play. He just died while working on his truck.

 I never met Bob or even corresponded with the guy. But I related to him and admired him. I always hoped we would cross paths, but that was not meant to be. Our lives somewhat paralleled each other's, albeit mine has played out at a decidedly more lowbrow level. The following is an example of what we all missed by not being Bob Skinner:

Having windowed their only block in a semi-final round win, Surfer Mike Sorokin can only cradle his helmet and ponder a longer fuse. One that would stretch to the starting line, where his opponent would hopefully foul. What to do? Surfer Tom Jobe (now the lone voice of the Surfers) narrates the fix, below. (Photo courtesy of Bob Higginson collection)

"You may have heard the stories of the Surfers rolling the car over on its side to patch up the side of the motor with cardboard and tape. If so, here are some pictures of that event. Keep in mind that everything we took to the drag strip fit into the trunk of our '55 Chevy. That included fuel, oil, tools, etcetera. If it didn't fit into the trunk, we left it home. We liked to keep it simple so we could have some fun at the drags and not work on the car any more than we had to. When a problem like this came up, it required the help of half the pit area. The team of Gall & Thode put us up to this deal and offered to loan us whatever parts we needed off of their car. Jim Brissette's team and Gene Mooneyham's team offered their help too, so we went for it.

(Photo courtesy of Bob Higginson collection)

We realized that the only way we could clean up this mess was if we could get the damaged side up, so we could wash it down with acetone (so the duct tape would stick). So we rolled the car up on its side and got after it.

Whenever you needed to know what you could get away with in one of those disaster deals, you went and got Jim Brisette. He surveyed the deal. We asked him how far it would go. He thought for a minute and said, 'A thousand feet.'

We mashed the piston up into the top of the cylinder, put a hose clamp around the journal where the rod used to be, pulled the push rods, taped the sparkplug and wire to ground, put the borrowed oil pan on, then put cardboard and duct tape over the gaping hole in the side of the block. It looked good, so we flopped it back on its wheels and filled it up with 98% nitromethane.

Mike Sorokin jumped in that thing like it was brand new, and we pushed down for the last round. It sounded great on seven cylinders! The thing marched right down the track for a thousand feet and then blew up, just like Brissette said it would. Bob Downey (in the Howard Cam Special) won that final round. We enjoyed that evening, and everyone at the track got a good laugh out of it, too." - Tom Jobe

(Tim Marshall photo courtesy of Bob Higginson)

So yes, Skinner was a team player, from his days at Carrol Shelby's shop through his tenure with the Surfers. But Bob the Individual? Here's a glimpse, via one who knew him well, Mr. Spider Razon:

 (Photo courtesy of Bob Higginson)

Spider Razon recalls the Surfers' first engine purchase, from Don Alderson's Milodon shop:

"So Skinner and Jobe pull up in Skinner's half dead Citroen 2VC (I'm not making this up), and state that they were there to pick up two 392" Chryslers. Don Alderson says, 'In that?!' The boys bring out two motors and start to strip them down. Alderson says, 'Oh no you don't! You bought those engines complete. You're not leaving all this crap here!' Skinner replies, 'We're not. We're just pulling the heads off to get them in the car.' So Don goes back inside to answer the phones and get shit done. When he does, Skinner and Jobe start stuffing worthless stuff like water pumps, timing chain covers, push rods, and anything else not wanted under bushes, in dumpsters, behind pallets - anywhere to get rid of the stuff. They finish loading quickly, say goodbye, and hit the road before anyone notices the hidden parts and crap left behind.

They hop on the newly completed 405 freeway and head for Santa Monica and the Red Apple Motel. The only obstacle in their way is the massive hill at Mulholland Drive. Remember, their little Citroen only had nine horsepower, new. Again, not a joke. Nine horsepower. They had two adults, two 392 blocks, cranks, and heads in the back. Skinner - always messing with people's heads - puts on a beret and a red scarf around his neck to do his best Frenchman imitation. Jobe sinks down in his seat to get as low as possible, in case they see someone they know. And they're off!

All goes well enough, until they get to the hill separating them from Santa Monica. 35 MPH...30...25...20...10...7...4...2... and Jobe hops out to push, while Skinner keeps the pedal to the metal, as the crest of the hill is within reach! And with a mighty effort, the boys get over the top and coast down into the cool air coming off the Pacific ocean.

They unload their treasures and call it a day.The first pieces of their dragster are home."

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SQUIRREL AND TOOLBOX

Oh yeah. Like you didn't see this coming from three paragraphs away. The Surfers have inspired everyone on Earth. And on water.

The dragster wing of the SGE research library. The section I'm standing at (in white shirt) is dedicated to The Surfers. There are thousands of photos in there, but not one showing any Surfers with a toolbox. I am now convinced that the Surfers' box never left the trunk of their '55 Chevy. 

Zoom in tight to view a crescent wrench laying on the Surfers' iconic yellow injector scoop. The only image I could locate with a tool in sight. This speaks volumes of the Surfers' quest for efficiency. 


GRIN

Like The Beatles, everyone had their favorite Surfer. This is Surfer Mike, hanging ten. (Photo courtesy of Bob Higginson)

Surfer Bob and friends, showing off their manicures. (Photo courtesy of Bob Higginson)

Surfer Tom (left) with Hot Rod Magazine's Eric Dahlquist at Surfers World Headquarters (a one car garage at the Red Apple Motel in Santa Monica, California). (Photo courtesy of Petersen Archives)

Honorary Surfer "Lotus John" Morton steered the car through its first baby steps, then went back to sports car racing. Skinner (in shades) enjoys the show in background. The Surfers earned their name with between-rounds shenanigans like this, while the competition thrashed furiously and wondered why the punks from Santa Monica enjoyed so much leisure time. Their secret was later revealed to be a 98% nitro load. Nobody saw that coming. (Charles Strutt photo courtesy of Bob Higginson)

                                                                                 

Rest in peace, Bob Skinner.
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