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thel and I got off to a late start in Nono. We originally planned to head for the salt earlier but the allure of Mark Eitzel singing, accompanied by Marc Capelle on piano, at a legendary San Francisco underground nightspot was too great for even the Bonneville Salt Flats. The show was fantastic, by the way, and the evening’s debauch set the tone for the entire trip. Not that we stayed completely sauced or anything, but we knew that this trip was not going to be rushed. Our theme this year was “on the mosey.”
We headed out late in the morning through intense central valley heat and smog, crept out, up and over the Sierra. Nono was acting funny and would not cool down so 55-mph upgrade speeds were mandatory. It turned out that the cool-as-heck antique Mopar radiator cap I had on her had truly become an antique, letting off pressure and thusly nearly a gallon of water exited as vapor. Oooops.
No problem. The very reason the floors in the back of Nono are invisible is because of the vast amount of junk I keep back there. The stuff not only wards off thieves who think the car is full of garbage, but it serves as a spare parts depot as well. This time it coughed up a perfectly good 15-lb. Stant lever action radiator cap and we were on the move. For the duration of the trip, Nono managed a respectable 20 mg on the highway at an average speed of 75 mph. Not bad for the same old junk-pile Holley I bolted on straight out of the can about three months ago.
Once we made it to the salt on Monday morning we found the meet had wound down considerably. Not only that, but there wasn't much Mopar in attendance and the ones that were there broke before we arrived. There are always plenty of Hemis in Fords and a smattering of pick ‘em up trucks that run hard, but they just don’t get my blood moving like Lee Sicilio’s Daytona or Jim Snyder’s Salty Cuda. What’s a Mopar fan to do?