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he end of an era has finally arrived here at the “Basement Garage.” My yellow 1966 Satellite is going off to a new home! Fortunately for me, it's not being shipped overseas to receive Euro, government mandated upgrades. Nor will it go across the country, or up to the north to see the dreaded slushy, salty snow. I am going to be spared the agony of watching the buyer come over and describe in gory detail the plans for a bitchin’ “g-machine” makeover complete with new, totally tubular K-member, 20 inch rims, shit kicker stereo and velour seats. It will not receive a new plastic console housing a DVD player and a built-in electric nose hair trimmer. I won’t have to suffer through a retro 80’s pro street thrash: “I can’t wait to back half this thing and get some real balonies back there, dude! Oh man, with a blower through the hood its gonna be so gnarly! Yewahhhhhhh!” Nor will my beloved “yaller” suffer the indignity of the “pro touring” conversion into a wannabe BMW M5, with some foppy pipe smoker at the wheel, chatting about Bordeaux varietals while driving in the slow lane for chrissakes!
Nope, none of that malarkey for “the old girl”. The buyer came over, paid a deposit and mused; “I wonder how it would look with “Torq-Thrusts” on it?” Ok. Just once… HALLELUJAH! What a relief! The only other suggestions for the future were, “I think a headliner and power steering would be cool too.” Praise the great and powerful idea of keeping a time machine intact! And, cue the drum roll please; the car will stay in the Bay Area… that means my mitts will still be all over it when it comes time for maintenance. Whew! I feel like I am living the luckiest God given human life.
You know, it’s not that I totally hate all those trends I tore into in the first paragraph. It’s just that I would hate to see my old car turned into one. I mean, she’s my baby, right? I just want a good life for her. Like with a kid… you don’t want to see your kid grow up into some smarmy over the top caricature or, worse yet, into a drug addled zombie. I have the same feelings for “yaller” and I get all warm and fuzzy thinking she’ll be able to grow old with dignity and under excellent care. She’ll be loved and driven hard regularly, garage kept, washed and waxed. Sweet.
So, who is this saviour? This rescuer of a dream? Who would be so noble as to buy a car and allow it to fulfill its destiny... to continue on its path to glory unmolested and undisturbed? None other than the great Nate Tynan. The man whose ’65 Dart wagon was featured in last month’s valve lash tutorial. The man who writes insane video and DVD reviews for Gearhead magazine. The man who has arguably had some of the worst car luck on the planet, now finds his luck turning toward the good since purchasing his ‘65 wagon… whose luck is now solidly locked onto the good side with the purchase of my “old girl”. A man who has been shot at, crashed, ticketed, jailed and otherwise sullied now rises, shining at the top of the heap. Hopefully by summer’s end “yaller” will be keeping company not only with the wagon but with Nate’s own, original, true Mopar love…his ’65 Dart GT, V-8 convertible. All rise! Hail the King! The Phoenix has risen, and in its glow, on bended knee, I humbly give thanks.