Summer of 1988....a.k.a. known as the "black chair summer" or "baja summer" among Billy and I and our old friend Doug. We all had Volkswagens of some sort.....my blue '67, Doug had a red '67 Baja convertible (yes a '67 convertible Baja....don't ask) and Billy had his '70 yellow Baja that never ran. Most of the summer was spent eating Jumbo Jacks in Billy's garage, sitting in the black plastic dune buggy seats that were out of the yellow Baja. Most conversations revolved around what we planned on "finishing" on the yellow Baja that day, but nothing ever really even got started. But we did get some work done on my car, and more importantly to this story, Doug's Baja.
Doug's Baja was a bit of an ugly mutt, a burnt-orange-red narrow-eyed Baja with jackman white wheels, BF goodrich radials and no front hood. But mechanically, the car was tight as a drum (until Billy and I got our hands on it) Good brakes, good steering box, and brand new single port 1641 built by the shop Billy worked at. Stock 30mm carb, chrome Baja header, 009....the usual stuff. Somewhere, Doug got a wholesale deal on a pair of Kadrons for single port, brand new. Since Doug didn't know much about working on the car, he enlisted Billy and I to install them. We packed tools, and drove out to his mom's place in the country, and swapped the stocker out for the Kadrons. By sundown the car was running with the duals and we got it idling well, and it was real crisp off throttle. Anyway, it was nighttime and time to go screw off. We all hopped in the Baja, put the top down, and made our way into the night. About a half an hour later......we're ripping down a suburban street, and Doug's winding the poor thing within an inch of it's life....and BANG. Motor locks up. The fun was over. Smiles turned to frowns. We were on foot, walking to nearest pay phone to call Doug's mom. Billy and I were silent, exchanging quiet glances of "What??? What are you looking at me for? I didn't do nothin!! Wasn't me!!!" We knew Doug's mom had shelled out big money at Billy's work for this motor, that now wouldn't budge.
The next day, Doug and his mom decided to tow the car to the shop where motor was built and demand that they warranty it. Billy and I just kept quiet....knowing that wasn't going to go over well. More silent thoughts exchanged with facial expressions...."You did it now, his mom is gonna kill YOU!"......"No way man....it wasn't me...had to be you..." Anyway, yeah...the owner of the shop took one look at the dual carbs and said "no warranty."
Now I have to mention that Doug's ride while the Baja was dead was a mid-70's AMC Hornet, sky blue, no hubcaps, and whitewalls. And the Weather Eye climate control. Had to be the weirdest car at high school. And the car had a tow ball. Key to the story. As is that he always kept a full tank in it.
Doug used the Hornet to tow the Baja to his grandma's house, across town. She lived in a suburban area up in the hills of Pleasanton. She lived on a moderately busy street, somewhat of a steep incline. Another key part of this story.
The car sat at her house for a few days, and then the plan was to tow it again somewhere....not sure where now...probably my house or Billy's to rip motor apart. Anyway, she got sick of seeing the car and asked him to gt it out of there. The three of us took some time away from our very busy lives in Billy's garage and the Jumbo Jacks and drove over in the Hornet with a VW tow bar.
We get to his grandma's place, hook up bar to Baja and then Billy hopped in the Hornet, backed it up to meet the tow bar. We secured it to the Hornet's ball, Doug hopped in the Baja behind the wheel (not sure why....still to this day). Billy, being Billy, starts goosing the gas in the Hornet, and Doug, panicking, slams on the brakes in the Baja, and Billy yells, "I'm gonna nail it!!!" What happened next was sort of like the planets aligning. As Billy jumped on gas hard, Doug jammed the brakes hard, then Billy let off, and Doug let off brakes....causing a violent reaction between the two cars and the tow bar. The bar came off the Hornet's ball and shot forward, ramming a 6" diameter gaping hole in the Hornet's fuel tank. I stood there in horror as gallons of gas spewed from the Hornet's wounded tank. Soon there was a river of gasoline coursing down Grandma's street, with cars driving over it. Middle of the day, in August, with 20 gallons of gasoline running down a street in Pleasanton. Kids riding their skateboards through it. Ladies walking their dalmatians through it. You could see the fumes rising in the heat. We just stood there....then Doug starts kicking the car and cursing and then Grandma comes out of her house to see what all the fuss is. Here are three kids in VW t-shirts and shorts, a morphidite Baja bug with a tow bar on it, and a bright blue AMC Hornet pouring gas into the street. Not good. His grandma comes running out, trying to hide her face with her hand, and yells at Doug "Grandma has nothing to do with this....get a bucket! Get a broom! Get that car out of here. Grandma has nothing to do with this!!!!"
We ended up throwing a 5 gallon bucket under the car (which filled instantly) and swept the rest of the gas into the sewer drain with a push broom. Luckliy, the cops never got involved. And luckily nobody was smoking within a 1 mile radius!
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