Just got off the phone with a VW buddy from 25 years ago. We both still have the cars we had back then. Maybe we're stupid for that. Maybe not.
Anyway, being 20-something and having few responsibilities, and ample time, what other esteemed product could stem from such a recipe.... other than trouble.
Aw, we weren't that bad.
His car back then was a clean '68 or '69 (think it was swingaxle, so '68) with 2.0L 914 mags and custom paint and a pretty ferocious 2276, 12.5-13:1, big HO heads, FK89, 48IDAs and a mag. Sounds like your common street motor now a days, but this was 1992. Most of us were struggling to make baby Dells run right.
Then we had another friend, '74 Super Bug, 1915cc, built in one evening consisting of hot Pleasanton CA humidity, mosquito-bites and a coupla cases of Coors. Out of the box 044 Magnums, my old 44IDF's and an Engle 120. An honest, hard working and sensible street motor, but no racer. But according to the owner, it went 11's
![Roll Eyes](http://cal-look.no/lounge/Smileys/default/rolleyes.gif)
One week, my friend Sheep and I thought we might put a wrinkle in Mr 1915's pride. We knew our 2276 buddy wasn't afraid to throw down on a Saturday night, provided the location was right (for him). We asked him if he wanted to run "this guy we know with a 1915". He didn't quite get it. When we further explained why, he was game. We said "Just tell him you have an 1835"
So Saturday night comes around, and we meet at Unnamed Industrial Dark Street at 11:00pm or whatever.. Mr 1915 was early, made sure to bring his lucky rabbitfoot and everything. We were trying hard not to laugh. Our race gas buddy shows up in a cacophony of 48's and cam gears. Mr 1915 isn't phased. Doesn't even look in the direction of the car. (really dude?).
Greetings are exchanged, cars are looked over, snickers, wink wink. Mr 1915, in his trademark Bakersfield drawl, asks "whatch y'all runnin under that there decklid", and our friend says, completely wiseguy... "1835 and 120 Engle" (more snickers), and he asks "$25 bucks cool?"... and Mr 1915 squints, adjusts his jaw, looks at the racegas, 48IDA, mag motor and says "make it fifty"
It never was a race. The '68 just picked itself up and threw itself forward leaving nothing but a wake of exhaust and intake bellow for the '74 to drown in. After all the laughs and secrecy, I have to admit, I felt bad.
These were good times. There was no internet to rely on for involvement. You bought your parts from a grouchy old man with work-hardened language and no patience. You knew the shop dog's name and where not to pet it if you didn't want to get snipped at. You didn't mind staying up until 4am in your buddy's cold garage, doing nothing but lying and listening to lies. Parts broke and you accepted it was your fault, so you just bought more- no hard feelings. You learned the hard way.
Best of all, it was fun.