A young college student picks up a brochure from a nearby car dealership in Champaign, IL. A 1966 Ford Cobra. Man, do I want one of these. But then life surrounds you and the dream gets stored away in the “Book of Don’t Forgets”. The racing and car bug slowly gives way to the pressures of raising a family and a career. Every once and a while, the dream surfaces but is again tucked away in the back of the mind. Life goes on.
Fast forward 39 years – my daughter moves her family to Westlake, OH. The next door neighbor has a blue Cobra parked in his driveway. Ew, some of the cobwebs of the mind start to stir. Mix in the past couple years of wrenching for my brother-in-law with a nostalgia rail dragster. When nitromethane gets in your blood, it causes strange things to happen.
Another year goes by – a visit to my grandson, the next door neighbor is out. A passing conversation about wanting to see the Cobra.
The next evening, Dave Miller (Westlake, OH, Blue Superformance Cobra) sticks his head in the door and comments “I understand someone in here might like a ride?” I am in the middle of giving a bath to my two year grandson. He’s left there standing in the tub as grandpa bolts out the door.
The hook is set – the fish is on the line. As the virus begins to develop, I am browsing sites more and more. Literature shows up. The bug is really contagious. And then there comes the day of reckoning, it’s time to talk to the wife about the dream.
I’d struggled with the conversation for weeks. All my nervousness is quickly set aside as my very loving and understanding wife see’s the spark in my eyes as I describe what I want to do. It wasn’t her exact words but in essence, “It’s your dream, go ahead and catch it” (but it will be your birthday present)”
The die is cast – the project is on. The rest of the pages try to capture what I have or am going thru.
ps: The story goes that Mom and Grandma were happy they were home when Dave showed up, or my grandson would have been left there by himself. To this day, when he hears the Cobra fire, he says “Where’s Dood?” (my grandson calls me Dood. It’s a long story, let’s just say we’re fans of the big Lebowski)