Ahhhh, the Chevelles. Those, the GTOS, the nasty Buick GS 455s ‘n the 442’s. I ah taken either. Couldn’t afford neither. Did get my hands on a new ’71 Mercury Cyclone with a 429 ‘n a four speed (factory Hurst shifter) I could have made a deal on ‘cuz my future father-in-law was the salesman. But me ‘n my future (still stuck with) wife was tryin’ ta save money. Then there was that Rambler we talked about before I didn’t buy.
Always liked to hang ‘em out in turns. Do to this day. That’s the frustrated never-was stock car driver in me. One in particular I loved ta hit when it was wet, hang that convertible slam sideways. Pushed it a bit too much in the drizzle one mornin’ ‘n lost it. Turned it around ‘n BAM the front end inta the curb. Backed it off the curb ‘n got it pointed home. The steerin’ wheel was upside down goin’ straight. Got home ‘n looked ‘n the front tires were cross-eyed. My old man threw a fit. Idler, tie rod end, lower A-frame………
Old Gulf or Shell station, one the two, in the middle-of-nowhere, on the way ta Princess Anne Court house in Norfolk County. Lots ‘n lots of street racin’ ‘round there back then. Boundaries were drawn ‘n the ‘middle-of-nowhere’ it became the city of Virginia Beach in the mid sixties. The old gas station changed to a bait ‘n tackle shop. Used ta get our fishin’ license there. Middle-of-nowhere was gettin’ ta be somewhere. Built ‘em a golf course ‘n a school near by then they started buildin’ houses.
These days if I wanna good, old fashioned, sloppy burger with a layer of cheese, cold lettuce ‘n tomato slices on it with some mayonnaise I go to the Kempsville Grill. It’s just a mile away without a stop light between here ‘n there. The whole way is thru my neighborhood. Ya prolly guessed it. It’s the old gas station/tackle shop out in the middle-if-nowhere……..