The menacing growl of push rod muscle captured my attention as I strolled down Laurel the other day. My head on a swivel, I quickly discovered the beast that bore the grumble.
A 1956 Chevrolet Bel Air 150
My love of Ford is well documented, but I've been known respect to respect the bowtie on occasion. This was definitely a black tie event.
He had replaced the engine with this engine 454, left exposed in all its glory to suck down gulps of nature, one carburetor full at a time.
The skeletal interior was perfectly complimented by the Misfits decal. We both shared a passion for the Danzig era.
Stephen, the hot rods owner said he was parking on the way to a bar ( I assume Mojo's, local dive of Christian, Pagan, and Petrol-head alike). He was decked out in black, presumably to camouflage with the 150.
The beefy feet out back let it be known this Chevy bites like it barks. He's saving up for a Detroit locker.
There were showers scattered throughout the day. Having just rained, I had to ask if this was his main mode of transportation. He shrugged, and my hopes of an open face Black Broad cruiser making trips for milk, honey, and whiskey were squashed. His other car is a Harley.
Let it be known he is VCU alumnus, although I didn't get a chance to find out if his 12 year ownership of the coupe overlapped with his times as a student. I like to think that if it did, he was never late to class.
I'd take this Michigan beast over a handful of modern exotics/tuners/whatever. But as always, my heart lies heavier with the Oval than any of the other big three. Perhaps I could convince Stephen to race me for pinks-after I get a piss coup.