The number two son was at the age when he wanted a drivers license. We were in Ludwigsburg, he was working for the PX gas station in Stuttgart. He had a social life, and he felt that not having a car and a license was a serious crimp in his style. We went through a lot of hoops but finally the fates were kind and his dream car fell into his lap. A multi-colored 1977 TransAm (predominately faded black and rust, with some various shades of primer), a project car of one of my mechanics. The project hadn't gotten very far. No carpeting, no headliner, a very unsuccessful hood scoop attempt, mis-matched tires and wheels, not much to recommend it at all. But...The engine was a German Chevy 350, built the way we used to do it in the sixties, about 325 horses worth, and a rear end geared for the autobahn. The running gear, the seats, and the speedometer (up to 180 mph), came out of a wrecked German Camaro. Ugly and ungainly notwithstanding, #2 saw the finished product in his mind. He got to work on it right away. In a matter of weeks it was showing the signs of real loving care. That car could MOVE. It wasn't a real whiz off the line, but I drove it from Baumholder to Stuttgart one night (about 120 miles), held the speed right at 105 mph and the tach was sitting on 2500 rpms! If that doesn't mean anything to you, let me just say that at 105 mph the car had LOTS more gas pedal to go. Here is a hint at how much more.
#2 had gone to Heidelberg for some reason and when he got home he was looking a little sad. I asked what was up and he asked me what it meant when a car started blowing blue-black smoke out of the tailpipe. I thought, "Oh man, he's blown the motor on his dream." I asked him why he asked. He said that on the way back from Heidelberg, he was really taking it easy (one of the requirements imposed by his daddy as a condition of owning the car) when he got passed by a Porsche 944. The Porsche driver made some gestures that indicated that he thought the ugly TransAm shouldn't be allowed on the same road with his Porsche. Intending to take the moral high road and ignore this, #2 stayed at his sedate speed...for a few minutes. Then pride got the better of him. He nudged it up just enough to catch the Porsche and ease by it. As soon as the Porsche driver became aware of the TransAm coming around him, he juiced it up just a bit. For a few miles it continued like this, each nudging just a little, fender to fender. Finally the Porsche guy had had enough and floored it, expecting to leave the Detroit iron in the dust. #2 responded in kind and they were off. The TransAm took the lead and continued to move away from the Porsche at a steady rate. #2 said that by the time he started slowing down for the interchange to head south, he barely saw the 944. It caught him and flew past on the A6 bound for Nurnberg as #2 was peeling off onto the southbound A81 to Stuttgart. The last #2 saw of the 944 was the trail of blue-black smoke it was trailing behind it, growing denser by the mile.
We stared at each other for a few seconds. My fatherly pride was hooping and hollering because my boy had run the legs off of a 944...My fatherly concern was screaming at the boy who had to sustain in excess of 150 mph for who know how long to accomplish that task. Finally I asked him, "So why the long face? I would think you would be jumping for joy and shouting it from the rooftops". His sad look took on a more sheepish quality as he explained that he was afraid I was going to be royally POed about it. The sheepish grin moved slowly into a wolfish, predator smile as he realized I wasn't going to eat him alive. I have to admit that even after all these years I still wonder if the 944 driver, who I am sure had smoked his share of Camaros and Firebirds, ever confessed to anyone how the ugliest TransAm in Germany had run him into the dirt. Somehow, I doubt it.