A very amazing Mopar story

[Budnicks]

Nice cuda'
cool story, cool car dreams come true...

 

[j-c-c-62]

One of my cars according to receipts still with the car was owned by a Coors Beer rep in Spokane, He apparently made a number of mods to the car to improve its drivability during the second gas crisis while it was getting a complete makeover. I sent him a letter a few years back with some updated pics and noted how much I appreciated all his upgrades, and that the car was in a good home. Didn't expect much in return, and I got none. Oh well.

 

[The Rebel]

Perhaps he was dead or just was being cautious as these days there are so many wack jobs out there.

One of my cars according to receipts still with the car was owned by a Coors Beer rep in Spokane, He apparently made a number of mods to the car to improve its drivability during the second gas crisis while it was getting a complete makeover. I sent him a letter a few years back with some updated pics and noted how much I appreciated all his upgrades, and that the car was in a good home. Didn't expect much in return, and I got none. Oh well.

 

[DynaBro]

Not a B-body story, but I'd wanted to share a Mopar tale.

I have a story with a similar beginning but sadder ending. What got me into this is a 1970 Super Bee I remembered seeing when I was very very young tucked away in the woods across from what is now a trail of terror type thing or maybe a paintball installation on 20 going through Mishawaka, IN. Bright Gomango, white interior (maybe a white vinyl top?) and unapproachable. I don't even know how I figured out what it was from the distance. I would just press my face to the window of my dad's Monte Carlo every time we drove past hoping for a glimpse of that wild orange car with the stripes.

As a teen I inquired among my dad's friends and heard so many legends about that car. Everything from he lost his virginity in it to it was his son's who died in Nam. No one knew for sure. The only agreed upon fact was it was not for sale and don't go bothering the man. His house is worth maybe 1/4 of what the car is worth. It's just an ancient matchbox sized home on a grisly wooded lot near dead businesses. So his refusal to sell was always mysterious. You have to admire the man. We had not caught a glimpse of the Bee in maybe 20 years. But when mine was picked up for transport nearby (in a lot that used to have a General Lee out front on weekends to draw business to a bait and tackle shop) a guy pulled over to chat and said he knew a guy down the road who had one. Really? Why had we never seen it?

Fast forward to Christmas. I got my dad, who is a Z28 guy, hyped up somehow (I think he's worried about dying soon as his health is failing so he wanted to spend time with me, plus I was drunk and am charming drunk) and suddenly he wanted to go on a mission to get to the bottom of it. I'm game! It was raining hard, we drove by real slow and I caught a glimpse of orange, stopped, and sighted it. There it was, that iconic front grille peeking out from under a blue tarp in the center of what has now grown into a small junk yard. I didn't want to trespass and wasn't dressed for a trek in all that mud anyway. But I would, if we could. So we hit all the members only drinking clubs like the Italian and German clubs old guys go to, and softball players clubs, everywhere with a pool table that still serves Stroh's in a can and doesn't play rap, and called every guy he knew who is still alive, trying to find an introduction. We sure had a great time and everyone in this town apparently knows my dad, which was very weird hearing all those stories people remembered from when he was like 13 years old from complete strangers. Yet somehow no one knows the owner. Not even the one guy in town, Bob Martin, who does nothing but rebuild transmissions for muscle cars.

But it was still there! So I get on facebook and weirdly see a guy in Elkhart who races a 70 Bee and ask him. He knows the story. A tree fell on it, so for whatever reason the owner moved it and put that tarp over it, which trapped the moisture, and the car has rotten to next to nothing. He still won't sell.

The saddest part? V Code. A real orange and white V code. Gone.

 

[68BabyBlue]

Many stories like that in my area. The son of the original owner of my car lived them all, drove most of them when they were new. I am incredibly thankful I own the one with the happy ending.

 

[j-c-c-62]

Perhaps he was dead or just was being cautious as these days there are so many wack jobs out there.

Of course, but I felt I had to try.

 

[j-c-c-62]

I have a story with a similar beginning but sadder ending. What got me into this is a 1970 Super Bee I remembered seeing when I was very very young tucked away in the woods across from what is now a trail of terror type thing or maybe a paintball installation on 20 going through Mishawaka, IN. Bright Gomango, white interior (maybe a white vinyl top?) and unapproachable. I don't even know how I figured out what it was from the distance. I would just press my face to the window of my dad's Monte Carlo every time we drove past hoping for a glimpse of that wild orange car with the stripes.

As a teen I inquired among my dad's friends and heard so many legends about that car. Everything from he lost his virginity in it to it was his son's who died in Nam. No one knew for sure. The only agreed upon fact was it was not for sale and don't go bothering the man. His house is worth maybe 1/4 of what the car is worth. It's just an ancient matchbox sized home on a grisly wooded lot near dead businesses. So his refusal to sell was always mysterious. You have to admire the man. We had not caught a glimpse of the Bee in maybe 20 years. But when mine was picked up for transport nearby (in a lot that used to have a General Lee out front on weekends to draw business to a bait and tackle shop) a guy pulled over to chat and said he knew a guy down the road who had one. Really? Why had we never seen it?

Fast forward to Christmas. I got my dad, who is a Z28 guy, hyped up somehow (I think he's worried about dying soon as his health is failing so he wanted to spend time with me, plus I was drunk and am charming drunk) and suddenly he wanted to go on a mission to get to the bottom of it. I'm game! It was raining hard, we drove by real slow and I caught a glimpse of orange, stopped, and sighted it. There it was, that iconic front grille peeking out from under a blue tarp in the center of what has now grown into a small junk yard. I didn't want to trespass and wasn't dressed for a trek in all that mud anyway. But I would, if we could. So we hit all the members only drinking clubs like the Italian and German clubs old guys go to, and softball players clubs, everywhere with a pool table that still serves Stroh's in a can and doesn't play rap, and called every guy he knew who is still alive, trying to find an introduction. We sure had a great time and everyone in this town apparently knows my dad, which was very weird hearing all those stories people remembered from when he was like 13 years old from complete strangers. Yet somehow no one knows the owner. Not even the one guy in town, Bob Martin, who does nothing but rebuild transmissions for muscle cars.

But it was still there! So I get on facebook and weirdly see a guy in Elkhart who races a 70 Bee and ask him. He knows the story. A tree fell on it, so for whatever reason the owner moved it and put that tarp over it, which trapped the moisture, and the car has rotten to next to nothing. He still won't sell.

The saddest part? V Code. A real orange and white V code. Gone.

The best part of your story was hanging with your dad.
I sure miss mine.