#v: death drives a 1969 mustang

[savagenewcanaan]

Savage New Canaan The Fatality Of The Muscle Mass Auto

Exactly how could muscular tissue vehicles, one of the most effective inexpensive autos the globe had seen, shed their oomph so quickly? What caused them to go away? I'm not a private detective, not from another location like one, however this was one case I had to solve.

It took place back in the 70's, but the proof was still there. It held true of the going away horsepower as well as this is what occurred.

In the age of the muscular tissue cars and truck power was whatever. It didn't matter what it was, cars, household vehicle, pick-up; it had the greatest V-8 feasible packed under the hood. Cubic inches were king and also advertised power was expensive. These vehicles could kick sand in the windshields of anything else on the road.

Yet after that horsepower appeared to vanish overnight!

Take my preferred muscular tissue car, the Ford Mustang. The aggressive designs had V-8s, though meeker models came with an inline six. The greatest 6 had 200 cubic inches and 155 hp in 1969/70.

Michael Savage 1800Accountant

What did the V-8s punch out? One of the most powerful 351 provided 300 hp in 1970 and also the 427 gave a massive 390 hp in 1968. Yet by 1973 the most effective Mustang had a 351 V-8 with just 156 hp. Nearly half what it had in 1970, and just one horsepower greater than the 200 cu in 6 of 1970! When it comes to the Mustang II of 1974, we won't also go there.

The tale was similar with the other suppliers. What was taking place? It simply didn't build up. Could I trust the figures?

My investigator advisor, Agatha Christie, educated me that when you're resolving an instance you can't rely on anyone. Murderers do lie. In this case it wasn't murder though it was the death of the muscle mass auto, and it wasn't a lot of an outright lie as not telling the entire reality. As well as outside pressures went to play.

I had to dig deeper. I needed to locate the truths. Why would horse power practically cut in half?

It ended up there were a couple of reasons. Salesmanship was one. Horsepower was everything so why not determine it in a sales person pleasant way? Gross SAE horse power was utilized. Power was gauged at the flywheel without any power-hungry devices attached. Just the bare basics were utilized.

In 1972 SAE Web dimensions were phased in. Power was still determined at the flywheel however all the accessories were set up including the complete exhaust system, discharge controls, all pumps and the alternator. SAE Internet can't be compared specifically to SAE Gross since there are just a lot of variations in determining, but it is down about 80%. So power ratings dropped. In 1973 horse power rankings decreased again as power sapping discharge controls were tightened up.

Gross SAE horse power had pressed the listed power up. So did the marketed horse power some car business used. What's wrong with a little rounding up of the numbers for the pamphlet? Surely that would certainly help sales also.

All this horsepower galloping around got seen and also not simply by young individuals.

Security legislators saw, therefore did insurance companies that began billing a lot more for insurance coverage. Words on the road is that in 1967 a young man under 25 with a clean driving record would have paid $700 a year for GTO coverage. Ouch! Some vehicle firms lowered their advertised horsepower rankings.

Muscular tissues peaked in 1970, as well as by 1971 they were starting to get flabbier. Engines were being detuned and within another year bigger engines were being gone down.

Michael Savage 1800Accountant

In 1973 several muscular tissue vehicles were a shadow of their previous selves. And also they were rounded off by the oil situation of late '73. Lengthy lines at gas stations and skyrocketing costs were a genuine shock, and so was a 55 mph national rate restriction. Car were reckless, pricey as well as unwanted, it didn't matter how much fun they were.

So there you have it. I currently recognized what had happened to all that brute power. Some overestimation had actually pushed detailed horse power up. A fairer, more precise determining system brought it down. Emission controls brought it down much more, and also soaring insurance policy prices made ground-thumping power also expensive to have. The oil situation finished the muscle mass vehicle off. This situation was fixed.

[privateerings]

hello mr death ur archangel friend is stuck pls help

the only free smorch

[powerstrangerdacre]

By your side

Chapter V - Love and lust

Summary: When Y/N finds herself hiding in Hawkins after a series of unfortunate events, she can’t help but feel strongly about Billy Hargrove, the king of her new school. Billy finds himself strangely attracted to, but also threatened by the girl. What will happen when she finds out his story and tells him her own?

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader / Steve Harrington x Reader (platonic)

Warning: swearing, fighting, mentions of abuse throughout the story

Wordcount: 1800+

Taglist: @fangirlinganditswonders @artisticlales

AN: I do not approve of Billy’s behaviour in Stranger Things.(How much longer will I have to say that?) Fifth chapter up! 2 more to go! Tell me if you want to be tagged! I hope you like it! Thanks for reading!

Also, requests are open: here.

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4 / part 5 / PART 6 / PART 7 ( to be uploaded)

Reader’s POV

I knew it was happening, but I chose to ignore the signs. I chose to ignore the beating of my heart whenever he was around me. I chose to ignore how my eyes always followed his retreating figure, falling on the back of his jeans before I could register what I was doing. I chose to ignore the way his eyes drew me to him. The cold blueness making me feel like I was drowning under the ice of a frozen lake. I couldn’t be in love, that was the one thing that I was sure about. I lusted the boy. I wanted to taste his lips and feel his body against mine. I wanted him to help me forget the mess that was my life, even if it was for just a few minutes. But given that I knew about his reputation in the school, I should’ve known better than to give in to my lust.

Lust can be fun, I’m not saying it isn’t, but where would it lead me? I would just be another scratch in his bedpost. And love was more than out of the picture for the both of us. Love was short-lived. Love was reckless. Love made people think things they never would and do things they never imagined. Love would make someone sacrifice themselves for the person they loved. Make them walk right into the flames without ever blinking or looking back. It would make them walk into certain death. Love scared me, and fascinated me, for it was a feeling I never thought I could feel again after my sister disappeared.

I closed the door to my car, and looked around for the notorious head of blond curls. When I saw him, I knew it was too late to turn or walk away, he was already looking in my direction, making a bee-line for my car.

“Morning’ birdie.” he calls after reaching me, before his eyes fall on the car I was leaning on. His eyes widen, and he coughs into his fist to keep his composure. “This beauty yours?” he asks, and I nod, a smirk making its way to my lips. “Got her from my dad. After he passed.” I say, making him nod. His eyes glided over the car, taking in every nook and cranny of the black body. My smirk only gets bigger when his trembling hand extends to touch the 1969 Mustang. “Didn’t know you drive.” he says to me and I shake my head. “You don’t know everything about me, birdie.” I say, mocking the pet-name he had used on me just minutes prior. “What’s wrong Hargrove? Scared that I’ll steal the roads from you?” I ask, standing off the hood of my car. I knew that no one had the car to compete with his 1969 Chevy Camaro, and that he was proud about that. But now I did, and I figured he’d be intimidated. “I sure am, doll. And I’m jealous. She really is a beauty.” he says, and I’m taken aback by his frankness. I thought he would at least try to deny the feeling, but he didn’t.

He draped his arm over my shoulders, and even though I was the tallest girl in school, I felt small standing next to him. I hugged his denim jacket closer to my body. I had kept it since that fated night, and he didn’t seem to mind. As if reading my mind, right on cue: “You know doll, I really like my jacket on you.” I feel my cheeks heat up, and thank God for the cold weather.

We walk through the crowded halls of the school, as people stare after us. After word had gotten out about what happened with Tommy, we were the epitome of popular. The king and queen of Hawkins High, and Billy knew that he would win popularity by being with the infamous girl that beat the Tommy H. up, but it was more than that, he protected me, made sure no asshole ever got close, and I protected him. It was like a silent agreement between the two of us.

He had changed over the little time that I was by his side. His relationship with his step-sister Max became better, and I didn’t know if it was because of what I had told him about my sister or if it was some other reason. The fights between him and Steve had also become less and less over time, and I didn’t understand what was changing within him, but I was surely glad that he was becoming more human.

But by noticing his change of character, I became oblivious to my own.

 Billy’s POV

I knew it was too late the moment I laid my eyes on her the day after my fight with Tommy, and I wanted to ignore it. But I wanted her. I wanted her with my whole being. I wanted her all to myself, and not in a sexual way. I wanted the feeling of her warm hand around my own on a cold winter night. I wanted her voice saying good morning to me each time I opened my eyes. I wanted her around me, so I could protect her, and because she made me better. Sometimes she looked at me like we were the only ones in the world, but I pretended not to notice her glances, too much interest and she might have run away. Sometimes I looked at her, eyes gliding over her figure, and when she returned the glances I didn’t have to try to smile, it just came naturally.

She was so unusual, yet so usual. I let the image of her wander through my mind. Her clothes were so casual, yet it turned my brain to mush: blue, tight jeans stopping just beneath her belly-button, the dark-red shirt that seemed so like my own hung from her shoulders and black boots that adorned her long legs. The jacket on her shoulders was different from her usual though, it was mine, and even though I should be used to girls wearing it, it stopped me from stringing together the simple sentence that was on my mind. “We should go out”, or “Are you free this afternoon?”. It would be that simple, but I couldn’t get myself to bring the words over my lips.

I see her after waiting by my car for 20 minutes, and she simply takes my breath away. Her hair pushed out of her face, sleek on her head with what seems to be gel. “Morning’ birdie.” I call as my eyes fall on her tall figure, before I notice the black Mustang Boss 429 under her. My throat squeezes and I cough into my fist, trying to loosen it up. “This beauty yours?” I ask her, she nods, and she couldn’t become more perfect. A girl with a love for cars. “Got her from my dad. After he passed.” she says simply, and I nod at her statement, my eyes not leaving the piece of work in front of me. “Didn’t know you drive.” I say, touching the car. “You don’t know everything about me, birdie. What’s wrong Hargrove? Scared that I’ll steal the roads from you?” she asks, and I nod. “I sure am, doll. And I’m jealous. She really is a beauty.” I say, walking over to her, draping my arm over her shoulders.

I watch her hug my jacket closer to her small body, and feel a tug at my heart. The words I want to say so badly can’t seem to form, so I opt for the next-best thing “You know doll, I really like my jacket on you.”

School was done in the blink of an eye, and I frowned as Y/N made her way to her car, away from me. The sky was already turning black even though it was only 4 PM. I wanted more time to her, but I knew if I asked she would probably shake her head and laugh at me. That’s why what she did next surprised me. “Hargrove? Wanna go for a ride? I’ll let you drive.” she says, jiggling her car-keys in front of my face. “Sure.” I smile, snapping the keys from her hand.

“Where do you want to go princess?” I ask as we drive through the dark streets of Hawkins, the only light coming from the Christmas ornaments the city had hung up on the light posts. “I don’t know, Hargrove. Surprise me.” she smirks, and I press down on the gas, making the engine roar. I laugh at myself as I speed to the only place I knew would be empty at this time of day.

We get out of the car and she frowns at me. “Trying to kill me Hargrove?” she says, looking at the thick woods in front of us. “Don’t worry, we still have a little ways to go. And if anyone would kill someone it would be you, feisty.” I say and reach for her hand. She grabs it reluctantly and we make our way through the darkness of the woods. I knew we had almost reached our destination when the trees became less dense, slight light flowing through the branches.

She lets out a small gasp as we reach the side of the woods, which fell into a steep cliff. You could see the whole city from this height. The lights flickered underneath us as the stars flickered above us in the night sky. We stood there, looking over the quiet city, silence falling calmly between us. I snuck a peek at her face, which was full of wonder. A smile tugged at my lips when she looked over at me, and I wondered if she could somehow sense my gaze on her. “Well… you certainly surprised me.” she says quietly, cheeks red with timidity. “Thanks for taking me here.” she says, turning to me. My hand finds its way to her cheek, making her look up at me. Her eyes widen as she catches my gaze. “I… I…” she stutters, making me chuckle as I pressed my cold lips to her warm ones.

That’s when I knew it, I had fallen for her. I had fallen into the deep, black abyss that was her. I was in love with her, but she didn’t love me back, and I knew that. She wasn’t one for love. Hell, I wasn’t one for love before I met her. I knew that our feelings weren’t the same, but I couldn’t resist as her lips played along with my own. Hell, I couldn’t even fight against the thoughts that were flowing through my mind, her smell flooding all of my senses.

[savetopnow]

2018-04-02 23 CAR now

CAR

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[itsworn]

10th Anniversary Muscle Car and Corvette Nationals: Greatest Muscle Car Show on the Planet

The Muscle Car and Corvette Nationals (MCACN) has become a dynasty in automotive entertainment. No other muscle car show comes close to the annual gathering of the faithful in Chicago on that crisp weekend just prior to Thanksgiving. The rise to glory could not have been scripted better, with a cast as colorful and charismatic as any Hollywood blockbuster. It’s been my privilege to attend every one of the MCACN shows, and the 10th Anniversary MCACN gives rise to a few subjective observations that might translate to significant life lessons.

First: Success takes hard work and commitment to goals and objectives that you believe to be worthwhile. MCACN show manager Bob Ashton, his wonderful wife Vicki, and the MCACN Board believed that they could build the greatest muscle car show on the planet. Ten years after, the thousands of people who have now included MCACN on their yearly calendar of events have proved the Ashtons and the MCACN partners correct.

The spotlight of MCACN X was on the Scat Pack and Rapid Transit System Invitational Showcase that featured the Dodge Scat Pack cars from 1968 to 1971, and the Plymouth Rapid Transit System cars from 1970 to 1972. The foreground shows Ricky Greer’s 1971 Road Runner equipped with the 440+6 engine, A34 Super Track Pack, and N96 Fresh Air Package. The Scat Pack/RTS showcase was bolstered by an incredible art display presented by Jim Secreto and Ken Hanna.

Three of the four Rapid Transit System Caravan cars were together for the Scat Pack/RTS Invitational. These three cars were sourced from the late Steven Juliano collection. (See our Feb. 2019 issue for complete coverage of this landmark display of historic Mopar cars and memorabilia; bit.ly/2LkIDHq)

MUSCLE CAR REVIEW editor Drew Hardin was among the journalists and other guests asked to award a pick from the show. Impressed by Jim Kramer’s 1968 BO29 and LO23 Hemi Super Stock Cars Invitational, Hardin gave his award to Pete and Jack Toms’ 1968 Hemi Dart called That Dart. The two brothers are the original owners of this highly original car, which has never been tubbed, still wears its first paint job from 1968, and sports a working emergency brake and emergency flashers. Bucky Hess and his son, Travis, brought the car to MCACN for the Toms and accepted his award on their behalf.

Second: One can never rest on one’s laurels. The show began with the priority that no muscle car, no matter how awesome, would be in the show more than two consecutive years. The MCACN partners knew that “same as last year” reviews would bring certain death to the venture. In some respects, bringing back some of the muscle cars presented in the first few years of MCACN could be justified. But Ashton and the MCACN partners have never faltered in presenting fresh offerings to keep the show from getting stale. Ten years after, muscle car enthusiasts anxiously await what next year’s MCACN will produce.

Third: You can always do better than your best effort. When the 27 of the 42 Hemi E-Body convertibles showed up at MCACN VII, the conventional wisdom was that there was no way MCACN could ever be better (“MCACN Resets Perfection,” Mar. 2016; bit.ly/2BoAg9k). The thought was Ashton had made the show so good that the following year would certainly be a letdown. But MCACN VIII was even better (“Great at 8,” Mar. 2017; bit.ly/2QYhlMk). When I would ask Bob how he could top the 27 Hemi E-Body convertibles, he was genuinely convinced that the next MCACN would be better, and it was. Ten years after, MCACN continues to reach for the better show.

An overarching 10th Anniversary observation boils down to MCACN’s formula for success: It has always been about the people. MCACN breathes life into the simple philosophy that, while on the surface this muscle car obsession is about the cars, it’s really about the people. There were so many times over the 10 years that Ashton would describe an incredible muscle car find, and then quickly brag up how great the owner was. Ten years after, that genuine friendship and respect continue to be infectious.

Yours truly was also given the privilege of awarding a MCACN pick. I chose John Kennealy’s 1970 F-85 W-31 Oldsmobile. The car was fresh from restoration, shod with Motor Wheel Spyders and Firestone Drag 500s out back, and dressed in Sherwood Green, the best 1970 Oldsmobile color ever offered.

MCACN was abuzz with the unveiling of this 1969 Hurst/Olds prototype. The proposed rear wing and the gold stripe continuation over the backlight never made production. The “Forced Air” hood was familiar, but also unique. As a featured Premiere Unveiling, this car was the talk of the show.

The crowds stormed the highly anticipated unveiling of the Shelby double-prototype 1968 EXP 500 Green Hornet, owned by Craig Jackson. Painstakingly restored to be as authentic as possible, down to the fuel injection and independent rear suspension, the Hornet will be featured in an upcoming issue.

The formula for creating the world’s greatest muscle car show is simple. Get about half a dozen brilliant business professionals who are passionate about muscle cars, who are never satisfied with their past achievements, who never lose focus, who never stop reaching, and who know the importance of treating people with respect and friendship. Then you can also have the most successful muscle car show in history, even 10 years after.

MCACN Decade One is in the can. It’s been a good start. Prepare for MCACN Decade Two.

Editor’s note: You can start preparation by marking November 23-24, 2019, in your calendar as the dates for the next MCACN show. Visit mcacn.com for full results of the 10th Anniversary show and information on the 11th.

Thanks to Brian Henderson of the Super Car Workshop (for bringing Rick Thayer’s Chevy II Nova), and car owners Jim Kramer (Hemi Barracuda) and David Garton (Cobra Jet Mustang), our Nov. 2018 cover story came to life at MCACN (“1968 Super Stock Cars”; bit.ly/2S7mUVU).

This 1969 Ford Boss 429 (Kar Kraft No. 1225) was the first Maroon Boss 429 produced by Kar Kraft, and the 10th car invoiced in the Kar Kraft production line. The Boss 429 was restored by Dave Riley at Vintage 60’s Restoration, with body and paint work handled by Nyle Wing at Wings Auto Art. Ed Meyer and Bob Perkins contributed technical support during the restoration. The Boss 429 retains its born-with drivetrain.

The Class of 1968 Invitational Showcase included Tom Mackey’s stellar 1968 Hemi GTX convertible. It is one of 36 produced for U.S. distribution, and one of eight known to exist today. It comes complete with all original body panels and floors, and is dressed in the original color combination with blackout hood treatment.

Dave Heilala from Brighton, Michigan, is the original owner of this 1968 W-31 Ram Rod. In 1968, he worked in engineering for Oldsmobile. He was able to supervise the production of this Ocean Turquoise car, and then drive it off the assembly line. His Olds is equipped with a Muncie M20 four-speed transmission and 3.91 gears. He drag raced the car for 20 years in the Pure Stock Muscle Car Drags, where his best e.t. was 13.40 at 105.11 mph.

The MASCAR 1970 Sunflower Yellow Yenko Deuce shop car is slated for a concours day-two restoration this coming year, and will debut at the 2019 MCACN show. Plans call for a vintage all-aluminum 427 ZL1 motor that would put the Deuce in the 9s without tubbing the car.

The 1968 Hurst/Olds Invitational Showcase was highlighted by Joe Spagnoli’s incredible Hurst/Olds Demonstrator four-speed convertible. This car was often used at motorsports events, with Linda Vaughn riding out back on a platform that transported the enormous and iconic Hurst Shifter display.

Brian Henderson from Super Car Workshop organized the 1968 Chevy II Nova Super Sport Invitational MCACN Showcase that had included Rick Thayer’s Fred Gibb/Dick Harrell Chevy II until we stole it for the MCR “Cover Come to Life” Showcase. Super Car Workshop restored the beautiful red Chevy II Nova Super Sport 427 conversion car. Super Car Restoration perfected the body, with metal work performed by Joe Griffith and paint by Jamie Cooper.

Ajesh Parikh assembled the Buick GSX-tasy Invitational Showcase. Examples of the 1970 GSX in the two colors offered that year, Apollo White and Saturn Yellow, were displayed, as were cars wearing five of the six colors available in 1971. One of the 44 GSX cars built in 1972 was on hand, as was the 1970 Buick GSX prototype that had been displayed in various exhibits in 1969.

According to owner Darryl Wischnewsky, Plymouth made 108 440 Six Barrel ’Cuda cars with the D21 A833 four-speed transmission, and his is one of them. The B2 Glacial Blue ’Cuda is equipped with a number of desirable options, including the A34 Super Track Pack, N96 Shaker hood, and Backlight Louvers. Apex Autosports restored the never-rusted E-Body in 2017.

In 1972, Randall Motors in Mesa, Arizona, built 12 or 13 Gremlins with an AMC 401 V-8 transplant. Bob and Denise Hoogstra had Scott Tiemann at Supercar Specialties restore their Randall Gremlin X. Speed parts include an Edelbrock intake, 750-cfm Holley carburetor, Hooker headers, and 4.10 Sure Grip axle. Stewart-Warner gauges keep the driver informed. If AMC had built Gremlins like this one, it would still be in business today.

That is original owner George Krem standing by the “Plain Brown Wrapper” 1964 Studebaker Lark Challenger. Krem’s car has competed at The Pure Stock Muscle Car Drag Race 18 times from 1998 through 2018. Best-ever elapsed time is a 12.61 at 114.03 mph. The Studebaker is powered by a supercharged R3 304ci/335hp engine mated to a T10 close-ratio four-speed transmission and 4.27 Twin Traction differential.

Gobi Beige never looked better than on Mick Price’s 1970 Yenko Deuce. The Deuce was sold new through the legendary Yenko Chevrolet dealership in Canonsburg, Pennsylvania. It is one of only 176 produced in 1970. Power comes from a 350ci/360hp LT-1 small-block featuring an 11:1 compression ratio, a solid-lifter camshaft, and a 780-cfm Holley carburetor. A close-ratio M21 four-speed manual transmission made for fun times with this small-block screamer.

Justin Hargrave restored the 1969 Plymouth GTX that his dad owned before he passed in 2012. He said that his dad was his best friend and instilled in him a love for muscle cars. The GTX impeccable, powered by a 440 four-barrel that spins the A833 four-speed transmission. The Track Pack option includes the Dana 60 with 3.54 gears, while the heavy-duty suspension helps plant power to the road. His dad would have been proud.

As we were producing the Feb. 2019 issue, which included John Chencharick’s 1970 Torino Cobra SportsRoof (“Ford’s Better Idea”; bit.ly/2GlwaEF), we spotted the 429 Cobra Jet-powered Ford at MCACN. The bright yellow and black Torino Cobra is set up for the open road with a C6 automatic transmission and a Traction-Lok 9-inch rearend with 3.00 gears.

Troy Angelly brought an unrestored original 1966 Coronet 440 with the optional 426 Hemi engine and TorqueFlite automatic transmission. The car was purchased at Andis Motors Inc. in Greenfield, Indiana. It was equipped with the Sure Grip differential and padded visors.

Brad VanHemert brought out the Malibeater MCR project car. Midwest Muscle Cars built the car, complete with a Chevrolet Performance ZZ427 with relic detailing, an M22 Muncie four-speed transmission, and a 4.10 12-Bolt Positraction rear. It was good to see an old friend. The car. I can call Brad any time.

Bill Jelinek from Rt. 66 Motorsports in New Lenox, Illinois, brought out Wally Staszko’s 1966 Chevy II Nova L79 four-speed Sport Coupe. The L79 car was raced at US 30, and was exercised on the street until 1973. It went into hibernation, and was just recently brought back to life by Jelinek and the crew at Rt. 66 Motorsports. The exterior and interior are 95 percent original, with a touch of day-two speed parts to keep things interesting.

Everyone who attends MCACN should play the what-one-car-would-I-want-to-drive-home game. My choice would be this 1968 Tuxedo Black L72 Biscayne. This incredible factory sleeper is unrestored, with 720 actual miles on the clock. It is powered by the 427-inch, 425hp L72 engine backed by a Muncie four-speed transmission and 3.55 Positraction rear.

1970 Superbird, Mike Fitzgerald The Chrysler wing cars, the 1969 Dodge Charger Daytona and the 1970 Plymouth Superbird, have long piqued the interest of many. They recall a day of stock car racing when games were played and deception was employed to gain advantage. Unearthing mysteries and rumors about these cars has been sport for many racing fans.

For example, the scoops on the front fenders were not functional on the street car. They were functional on the race cars, though, with holes cut open underneath reportedly for tire clearance. But Chrysler had found that the scoops served as air extractors that reduced drag by 3 percent. Altering a fender for tire clearance was legal in NASCAR, but creating an air extractor in a fender was not.

Many people have theorized that the crazy rear wing was high in order to clear the trunk opening. However, John Pointer, the Chrysler engineer who conceived the wing and the nosecone, did not care about the trunk opening. He put the wing up high in order to get it into clean air. By doing so, racers could make proper adjustments for effective downforce at high speeds without having to deal with the turbulence coming off the roof.

The 1970 Plymouth Superbird owned by Mike Fitzgerald is a recent acquisition for him. Previously it belonged to the owner of a pizzeria in New Lenox, Illinois, who had stuffed it away for a future restoration. Unfortunately, he passed away before realizing that goal, and Fitzgerald bought the car. He then sent it to Magnum Auto Restoration in LaSalle, Illinois. I had seen the car while it was undergoing metal surgery, and, to put it mildly, it was not an easy task. But it was one of the Premiere Unveilings at MCACN this year, to the delight of Mopar wing car fans from all over the world.

The signature front nosecone and huge rear wing were installed on the 1970 Road Runner to woo Richard Petty back to Plymouth. It worked.

Mark Sekula and his crew at Magnum Auto Restoration did a magnificent job restoring this Corporate Blue Superbird. The car required a good deal of metalwork, but Magnum is no stranger to a challenge.

Mike Fitzgerald’s wing car is powered by a 440 Six Barrel engine that was rated at 390 hp. A 727 TorqueFlite transmission and an 8 3/4 rear with 3.55 gears complete the drivetrain.

Interior is the basic Road Runner, with console, 150-mph speedometer, 8,000-rpm Tic Toc Tach, and floor shifter.

Of the 1,920 Superbirds built, fewer than 50 were painted Corporate Blue, and only 30 are known to exist. The street cars had the scoops installed like the race cars, but they were not functional.

1970 ’Cuda 440 Six Barrel, Darryl Wischnewski Apex Autosports presented Darryl Wischnewski’s 1970 ’Cuda as one of the 2018 MCACN Premier Unveilings. The Apex Autosports team performed the complete rotisserie restoration in 2017 and 2018, under the watchful eye of owner Andrew White. Apex is a rising star in Midwest, having presented high-quality restoration work on very special Mopars in the past few years at MCACN.

Power for Wischnewski’s 1970 ’Cuda comes from the E87 440 Six Barrel 390hp engine. The ’Cuda had spent some time at the dragstrip, so part of the restoration included returning the car to OE standards. Having seen the Apex facility firsthand, it is immediately evident that its cars are right. The Black Velvet paint on this ’Cuda is hypnotic.

Speaking of commitment to excellence in restoration, many might be concerned about the roadworthiness of a newly restored muscle car. Apex is a shop that cares about the details. It has a chassis dyno that helps the crew dial in all the powertrain systems. The attention to detail and care for the final drivable product is something that speaks of a commitment to excellence.

The laser-straight TX9 Black Velvet paint on the 1970 ’Cuda is better that what Ma Mopar ever produced. But because the paint is a single-stage enamel, it does appear to be closer to factory appearance than the modern two-stage process.

Darryl Wischnewski’s ’Cuda is equipped with the highly desirable A34 Super Track Pack with 4.10 gears. The D21 A833 HD four-speed transmission makes for fun gear-banging acceleration tests.

The 440 Six Barrel engine in the black engine compartment, highlighted by the big Shaker hood, is sheer artwork. Once the Shaker is removed, it reveals the beautiful three-two-barrel induction system. The entire presentation is spotless, and dialed in prior to final delivery to the customer.

The striking H6XW high-grade white vinyl interior with the C55 white front bucket seats provides a stark contrast to the Black Velvet paint. Options include the R22 AM/eight-track radio, J25 three-speed wipers, and four-speed Pistol Grip shifter with no console.

Exterior features include dog dish hubcaps, W25 HD stamped-steel wheels, U82 Goodyear Polyglas GT E60-15 tires, M26 wheel-lip moldings, and gold Pentastar emblem.

1962 Catalina Super Duty, Duane Strohschein If one were to open the annals of automotive history in the 1950s and 1960s, there would be a record of economy runs or performance trials among oil companies and auto manufacturers. Economy runs would be organized typically by oil companies to offer objective information on a vehicle’s performance, fuel economy, and braking ability. The automotive manufacturers competed to rise above other brands.

The Mobilgas Economy Run was probably the most famous, though other companies certainly were involved. Not surprisingly, the long game for the oil companies was the promotion of their products to a car-crazy generation. Automotive manufacturers would benefit when their particular model outperformed the competition.

Economy runs and performance trials might involve a long road trip to gather data on a vehicle’s capabilities, or it might be hosted at a particular race track for various tests and trials. The Pure Oil Performance Trials of 1962 were held at Daytona International Speedway. Pontiac sent the featured 1962 Pontiac Catalina Super Duty to compete. The Super Duty Pontiac did very well, scoring the highest percentage of potential points for all classes and events.

Duane Strohschein was thrilled to discover the history of his 1962 Catalina, which he had found in a Michigan junkyard. He concluded that only the very best restoration would do for this very special Pontiac. He enlisted the services of Scott Tiemann and the team at Supercar Specialties. The Pontiac was restored to as-participated condition at the Performance and Economy Trials at Daytona.

Duane Strohschein had Scott Tiemann perform a “no compromise” restoration on this one-of-24 1962 Catalina Super Duty sedan. Strohschein participated in the process, sourcing the best parts and components that could be found.

Though large by today’s standards, the big Catalina fared well when it participated in competition. The Super Duty Catalina was equipped with special aluminum front brake drums and a 4.30 Traction Lock axle.

The 1962 Pontiac Super Duty 421 engine was conservatively rated at 405 hp at 5,600 rpm and 425 lb-ft of torque at 4,400 rpm. The four-bolt-main block was equipped with a forged-steel crankshaft, forged-steel connecting rods, a solid-lifter cam, and forged pistons that produced a healthy 11:1 compression ratio. Twin 625-cfm carburetors fed the beast. Note the heat block-off panel on the firewall.

Bench seats, a steering-column-mounted tachometer, and the four-speed shifter lend an all-business feel to the interior.

Strohschein found the Catalina in a junkyard in Michigan in August 2011. Upon its discovery, he and Scott Tiemann embarked on the hunt for genuine parts and equipment to bring the Pontiac back to life.

1971 Mustang Mach 1 429 Super Cobra Jet, Stefano Bimbi The majority of automotive enthusiasts will cite the 1971 Mustang, with its longer and more portly dimensions, as a tragic redesign. I call it Mustang’s best year. Radical styling cues, including the almost-flat backlight, turned off many customers. Others believe the 1971 Mustang, especially when equipped with the 429 Super Cobra Jet engine, was pure big-block Pony perfection. Growing popularity among collectors seems to indicate that the 1971 Mustang has gotten better with age.

The 1971 Mustang offered the best performance selections ever available. True, the Boss 429 was gone, but in its place the customer who knew his way around the order sheet could be driving the potent Boss 351 with factory-rated 330 hp. The new-for-1971 429 Super Cobra Jet, even in the heftier Mustang, was an impressive performer. As an aside, no car wears a set of Magnum 500s better than a 1971 Mustang fastback.

Stefano Bimbi of Nickey Performance heard that the second owner of this factory black 1971 Mustang Mach 1 429 SCJ was interested in selling. The 429 SCJ car came with a numbers-matching drivetrain, Drag Pack option, and all original metal. Bimbi had a friend check the car out, and ran the Marti report for verification. He discovered the car was one of 531 equipped with the 429 SCJ engine/Drag Pack option, and one of only 351 four-speed versions.

Stefano Bimbi of Nickey Performance discovered this two-owner 1971 429 Super Cobra Jet Mach 1 in California. Upon purchase, he immediately sent it over to MASCAR Classics in Costa Mesa, California, for a complete concours restoration.

Although the Mach 1 did not have this wing on it from the factory, Bimbi was told that the original owner had the wing installed after purchase. For that reason, it remained on the car after the restoration.

The 429ci Super Cobra Jet is factory rated at 375 hp. The engine is part of the Ford 385 series engines, and is separate from the FE engines. The 429 SCJ was blessed with a solid-lifter cam, an 11.3:1 compression ratio, and a Holley 780-cfm carburetor.

When the Ram Air engine was ordered, the factory made these scoops functional by installing a vacuum-actuated door that fed air through a fiberglass underhood plenum.

The big Hurst shifter with console and the comfortable surroundings make for one awesome touring vehicle. The Ginger interior is a bit unusual, but looks fantastic in the black car and increases the rarity of the Mach 1.

The Mach 1 chin spoiler, correct F60-15 Firestone Wide Oval tires, and 15×7 Magnum 500 wheels create an aggressive front-end stance. If there had been a sequel to Bullitt, Frank Bullitt would have driven this car.

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[privateerings]

@masteroflightanddark​ liked for a starter

In the empty space of the air, a humming of a voice hung lightly in the darkness. 

It was Death, having a walk, cane in hand, but not in use. The goddess was in his sights, as always. She was all right, but that didn’t mean that he had to trust everything she did. 

He paused, ending the song.

“You called? Are you causing carnage again?” A grin tears through his face, a row of white teeth cutting through the black face paint. 

[privateerings]

⌚- Does your muse worry about time?

Death!Vace surprisingly worries about time but not for the same reasons that people do. He won’t grow old and die, but he can be pretty impatient because he’s a busy guy. He has souls to keep up with and people who should die who don’t because of supernatural means. Days and weeks don’t make a difference to him but making sure that things fall into place and spirits don’t go wild from being abandoned leaves him with little time for himself and that is difficult. 

[privateerings]

⭐️ ((only if you want to of course))

Send ‘⭐️’ for my muse to pay yours a compliment

“You’re the last but certainly not the least. That counts for a lot. You’re more than capable of building a kingdom for yourself. Seize the day or die regretting the time you lost.”

[privateerings]

She was crying. She’d escaped everything but the things that hurt her the most. She’d been with a man whom her family did not know. She never named him, never pointed him out when she saw him in the streets, though he may have been more than a man of the streets. He may have been wealthy. He may have turned a blind eye to her existence once he realized that she was to have a child. She was nobody then, just a wench that he had never met before. Her family felt the same. How could she do this to them, right? They threw her out of the only home she had known as punishment. They didn’t want that label of being the family harboring a “loose girl,” a sinner with a child out of wedlock. 

People are very, very shallow. They don’t see how in the grand scheme of things none of that matters. So easily they can be reminded when it is too late. She understood. I saw that. She loved that child, that baby she gave everything to raise. She gave everything but her life, though she risked it many times. It reminded me of my “mother,” how she gave the ultimate sacrifice, or so they say. 

The first life I ever TOOK was my mother’s. Just childbirth. Her soul was with me for ages.

Anyway, that baby was everything to her. It was all she had when her family discarded her and others turned her away. I suppose she took comfort in that the child would love her when it got old enough. She would have someone. As more people died at the time, even those who turned her away and called her names passed on. It was a great passing. BLACK DEATH. Nearly perfect by design, its strong longevity tore right through the community. Her family fell prey to illness and demise. At times I was busy, but other times people made it easy to collect. They went so quickly. 

I knew what was to come and I already mourned it. Her baby was sick. She did everything she could think of to save the only thing that mattered to her and it was not enough. She was wrought with despair. She would wander with this dead baby in her arms. She wanted to die too. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t bear to watch that. There was so much loss, so much death, it wore on my nerves. I visited her one day, after she finally buried her child. I broke down. I told her who I was and what I did. I didn’t tell her about collecting the baby’s soul, but she asked anyway. I told her I was sorry. I told her that I hated what I did.

She asked me why, if this was not my true calling, don’t I leave? Who is stopping me from starting my own life?

I stopped. She was right.

Why didn’t I?

[privateerings]

incense smelling of spices, wine, and poppy flowers would be left as an offering

If my Muse was a Deity, what Offerings Would you Leave at Their Shrine?

t҉h̀ị̬͇̮̟͘s̤͙͎̺̘ ̷o̷̙͉̻͎f͠f̤̲̭͖̰e͏͓̲̲̞̘r̙̞̙̪i̮̺̱̺ͅng͈͝ ͉̜̫͙̮͔͡ͅp͇̬̯̝l͍e̗͓a̺̲̲͝ş̖̥̳̩̗e͎͖̩̦ş̖̠͖ ̝̰̤͙y̮̯͙o͙͢u̮͕̫͚͕͡r͎̥̤͍͉̟ ̢g̪ọd̝̪͎͔̬̪́ ̺͙̙͙̦į͔̟̟m̴͚m̫͠ę̙ͅn̝̩̳̟͘s̸̩̱͙e̳̺͍͍l͎͕y̨̝̯̜. 

It’s almost as if he’s smiling. No, he is smiling. Those teeth are unmistakably bright.

[privateerings]

❝Death comes for all.❞ 

❝And when I die, I wonder who will come for me. Who takes the weary soul of death itself back to the oblivion, whence it came?❞ 

[privateerings]

✿ ((if you want to))

SEND “ ✿ ” FOR 2 HEADCANONS FOR OUR MUSES’ RELATIONSHIP.

They frequently insult each other but probably don’t mean it half the time. It’s just what they do. Especially in different languages. And even at inappropriate times it comes and goes.

Death shows Revan the ways of “modern culture,” only for it to be relatively useful because his understanding of things has only progressed to 90s/early 2000s. Still, something is better than nothing and Death thinks it is a kind gesture and pasttime to show her new things.

[privateerings]

[@hothrebels​ blah bleh x ]

At some point perhaps Death had been as good as most people at making an effort to physically console people, but generally he kept away from most people. Valeria’s actions didn’t help with their vague and unexpected placements. Generally, a hug is accepted. That much he can do.

“Is that another plea for attention in disguise of an invitation? If you need me at your bedside or in your bed to feel better, then I’ll be there. What do you want?”

[privateerings]

.

a voice like  s̡t̨̟a̝̯̝̣̺̥̺t̸͙͎͉͉̼̩ͅi̵̞͔̱̣̻̥ͅc͡

.

[privateerings]

Yeah, I had wings once. Ripped ‘em out when my screaming wasn’t enough to drown out theirs. It was a long time ago. You know, there are very few types of anger that are actually healthy for you. I haven’t experienced any of them. It started with an irritation, a flicking, like what crows do. Except I don’t know why they do it. It continued on and on with the wing spasms and fidgeting. I had a need to dig. I started plucking out. Just for the time being, I was able to ignore the discomfort with the plucking. I left down and feathers on the ground wherever I sat for long enough. 

I asked why things had to be this way, but I didn’t get an answer–big surprise there. Just more screaming. I can see why there are people who don’t believe in anything. Eventually, I felt the same way. I was still angry, after all that time. There was no solace in getting what I wanted, because it wasn’t what I needed. I didn’t need revenge. Killing gods did nothing for me. The picking wasn’t enough. It would never be enough for this–for me. I hated too much. There was nothing left for me but that... and it wasn’t enough. 

It's funny. All this happened because I didn't want to be me. And after I got those wings, after I got my revenge killing, I didn't want to be anything but me, that person I was before that mess started. I wanted to be me so badly that I would do anything. So that’s what I did. 

I pulled ‘em out of their sockets. Twisting them off was too difficult, then I found something sharp enough, and I don’t know remember what it was I used, I wasn’t myself anymore… they were loose enough to yank annnnd so I did. I was there for days, probably. Couldn’t move. I was a mess, but at least I wasn’t losing my mind anymore. (Though, if I we’re being completely honest, I don’t remember anymore if I am still myself or someone else.) 

[privateerings]

I was absolutely a foolish puppet, isn’t that funny? I had been all along and failed to see who pulled the strings until I cut myself loose. The master didn’t like it and revealed himself to me as Death. He said that things could not be the way that I wanted them to be because my life was not mine to control. My destiny? That was up to him. I know quite a bit about destiny, but when he told me these things I had already fallen into the pit of despair. It swallowed me and started to dissolve me within its dour digestion. 

How could I possibly live on for an eternity with no freedom? I would have things taken away from me over and over just because it was the “will of the gods” or some nonsense like that spewing from Death’s lips. 

I said “Thanatos, I hope I’ll be forgiven for this.”

He said that I already have been, but I need to get back to work. He didn’t understand me, of course. So far removed from the system, sitting on his throne of obsidian bones in the underworld, he couldn’t possibly know what goes on above him. That was all right. I didn’t want his forgiveness. Whoever is to judge me for murder will know that I would never wish what I did upon anyone. It didn’t have to be that way. 

I just never liked being anyone’s pawn, especially not one of a heartless god. 

I waited. I waited nearly six-hundred years. I wanted it to be just right. Failure would only result in my own destruction. If a toy is broken, you throw it out, right? So I waited until he least expected it and put a scythe in his back. He didn’t die instantly, surprisingly, and he retaliated. I could have killed me for that, really, it was a close call. But he who strikes first with such a fatal blow wins the battle. I struck Thanatos down, and I went for his twin, knowing that he would find out sooner than later. He was much easier to deal with–I had my wings, after all.

I was on a high, even if it didn’t last very long, high off fulfilled revenge, divine justice against the divinity. Tears in my eyes, ichor in my hands, smoke in my mouth, great black wings shimmering cobalt and dripping ichor, I could not be more satisfied. And then came more death. I did things my way. Those who lost themselves to Thanatos’ rule wished to follow me and I could not deny them their desire. I gave them the freedom he never gave me. They could come and go as they pleased, do as they pleased. I wouldn’t bother them or, you know, hypothetically kill their loved ones out of spite. I am not a cruel and unjust god and I never will be. But what do you do with that much power? For gods of bodily resting, they were surprisingly restless spirits. I suppose I understand why. I, too, became restless.