Road Worthy

My dad opted to drive his 1971 El Camino, which has come to be known as the ol’ reliable steed in his stable after thirty years of ownership. It’s a no frills, steady-eddy machine sporting the original 350 under the hood, a 700R4 transmission, a twenty-year old repaint, and newer 17-inch wheels. Nothing flashy, but it just works.

My uncle drove his 1938 Chevrolet, which he purchased just a couple of years ago after being surprised at the condition and price at which he found it. The car was nicely rebuilt about a decade ago with a Mustang II front-end and nice paint, and had seen very little of the road before my uncle bought it. Like the El Camino, it has a carbureted Chevy small-block under the hood, but the engine is backed by a virtually brand new Gearstar Turbo 350 transmission. Why the previous owner didn’t opt for an overdrive tranny like a 700R4 is a mystery, and an event like the Power Tour begs for long legs.

Last year, he and pops long-hauled in the ’38 without issue, but the three-speed and 3.08 gears in the rearend had a tendency to turn the rpm up just a bit beyond my uncle’s liking at highway speeds. He hated the idea of replacing a perfectly good transmission, but he knew the combo wasn’t quite right for his kind of driving. Neither he nor my dad are ever satisfied with paging through catalogs to solve problems, so he went digging through his stash instead.

Several years ago, he picked up a 9-inch rearend out of a late 1970’s Lincoln Versaille sporting 2.47 gears that he intended to use under his ’40 Ford pickup project. After a few quick measurements, he realized it might be the perfect candidate for the ‘38. The rearend measured two inches narrower than the late 50’s/early 60’s GM unit it replaced, but otherwise was an almost direct bolt-in. Once a dual-pattern u-joint was sourced from the local parts store, the rearend slid easily into place.

The rearend was originally equipped with Grenada disc brakes, but they were oversized, bulky, and comically heavy. Unc quickly ditched them in favor of a drum setup he pulled off a 9-inch sourced from a Ranchero. He hucked the anchor plates in the mill for a little fine tuning, and viola! Brakes!

The narrower setup also allowed him to swap the 7-inch wide rear wheels for 8’s with less backspacing. He found a dual-pattern wheel at Summit that matched the fronts perfectly, and was now able to squeeze a little more tire in, as well. He traded the narrow 235/70/15s that had come on the car with 255/60/15s on a deeper dished wheel.

While not exactly ideal for a drag race, the new setup was great for cruising. What was 50 mph was now churning about 62, according to GPS timing. In order to take care of the speedometer, Unc remembered seeing an old advertisement in the back of Street Scene magazine for just such a service.

He dug up an old magazine, paged through to the back, and, sure enough, found an ad instructing him to call Ron. Once on the phone, it was a quick conversation to get things moving. When Unc asked about payment, Ron just said, “Once you get the part in the mail, just send me a check when you get a chance.”

And with that, the cars were ready and our bags were packed.

Checking In

The Power Tour officially kicked off Monday morning at Atlanta Motor Speedway, so we made our way to the south side of Atlanta on Sunday afternoon to check in with the event staff and grab our schwag bags. With beer on ice and parking spots secured, we then kicked back and watched the cars pour in.

The first thing you’ll notice at a Power Tour event is that functionality is celebrated above all else. For many participants, the Power Tour cars are their second, maybe even third collector/performance car. As such, the event fills up with the most eclectic mix of machines you’ll likely see anywhere. Utili-mobiles, obscure body styles, and late-model muscle are readily accepted in a way that simply does not happen at other high-profile car shows.

There are a few high-end builds scattered around the grounds, but most of those seem to be supported by teams of social media managers. Most plentiful are pickup trucks, muscle cars, and oddball bits of Americana – some nicely finished, some… works in progress.

Long-Haulin’

We left Atlanta Motor Speedway on Tuesday morning in an effort to beat the worst of the crowd, but, at this event, there’s always someone up and moving ahead of you. The official route to South Carolina’s State Fairgrounds in Columbia necked down to a two-lane road running through a four-way stop just a few miles out, and the traffic stacked up in a hurry. That’s where the fun really started.

Heat waves started pouring out from under hoods and itchy right feet got the better of most of us. Our team peeled off at the first opportunity, and that was just about the last we saw of the official route. Before long, we were wandering our way through the east Georgia countryside with ten or twelve other participants looking for clean air and open road.

Wednesday’s route to Rockingham Speedway found us in similar circumstances, and, I have to admit, I got a bit overzealous in my route finding. I found a road on the map that circumvented the worst of the traffic, but, unfortunately, my route turned to sand a few miles short of our destination. Unc yelled at me out the window as we turned around, so I just rolled mine up.

Rockingham was a bit of mess on the way in if I’m being perfectly honest. Cars were backed up for miles, and no one seemed to be moving at a detectable pace. I noticed a side entrance and convinced Pops to flip a u-turn and give it a shot. Sure enough, in we went, managing to shortcut at least 80% of the crowd. I was quite pleased with my navigational recovery, even when the sand route kept coming up in conversation.

Watching hotels get overrun by hot rodders is my favorite part of these types of events, and our roadside joint in Rockingham did not disappoint. Coolers and chamois and lawn chairs appeared in abundance, and there’s nothing better than sitting back, cracking a cold one, and waiting for things to get lively. Strangers join in conversation as if long lost friends, expertise is debated, and, inevitably, someone is willing to perform a line-lock demonstration.

Thursday, it was on to zMAX Dragway in Concord, North Carolina. Though an impressive facility with acres of parking and its famous four-lane dragstrip, finding our way to a parking spot proved to be a daunting effort. Cars were overheating on the side of the road outside of the gates and frustrations were boiling over as thousands of cars were unnecessarily routed through a convoluted gauntlet of ill-advised flaggers.

Once inside, we perused the parking lot and spectated as fellow participants opted to stretch their legs on the strip. Up until this point we had witnessed minimal carnage, but then a Hellcat-powered Dodge Dakota pulled up to the line. Next thing we knew – KAA-BLAMY. The transmission annihilated itself and blew its guts out all over the starting line. A quick fire sprung up, and things escalated quickly. Fortunately, no one was hurt, but I took it as a reminder that survival is the true test of the Power Tour.

On Friday morning, we were up and on the road to Bristol Motor Speedway. We opted for a meandering route that carried us through the Pisgah National Forest and provided more than enough time to chat through the few remaining unsolved life mysteries that we had yet to check off our list. Once parked outside the track, we found our way to the pits by side-stepping our way down the steep track embankment. There we certified our long hauler badge and collected our parting gifts. We then took a few pictures, pondered the thrill of going bumper-to-bumper with forty other racers on the storied Bristol high-banks, and headed for the gates.

Out in the parking lot, we gathered for one last trip selfie to capture the moment. My uncle then turned and asked, “Well, y’all ready for some gas and a bite?”

“Yeah,” we said. “Let’s hit it.”