Go fast, turn left OH... and live longer please....

One of the most vibrant, alive and blithe human beings I've ever had the privilege of knowing in my life, went down for the count yesterday. BUT... it's hopefully only a T.K.O.

It better be ! I don't think Barney is ready to lose such a good friend!

And I certainly know I'm not !

When cars just didn't have the performance that said, "Yeah. It's a HEMI." Dad and Uncle Bob were the guys to see.

When someone thought, "the damn thing might just go faster, if all the weight was at the back!" Dad and Bob just went and made it happen.

When the race was only a few day's away and the car needed that little extra something to make it say I am Canadian, Uncle Bob wouldn't leave until my Dad did.

When Dad had that smile that would last the whole night through and our car was on pole for 'The Classic,' you just knew Uncle Bob also had something to do with it.

When it came time to defend a bad decision at the bar, Uncle Bob had Dad's back all the way. Right or wrong, ( and in my Dad's case, probably wrong! ) my Uncle Bob always had Dad's back, every single time.

They built race cars together.

They built families together.

They built all of my early memories together.

Go fast, turn left. It just become a way of life.

It was always simple as I grew up really. When guy's wanted to go faster, they'd show up at our house and they'd always turn to Dad and Bob.

When guy's dreamt some wild shit up but weren't sure it was possible, I'd spend a week or so away with Dad and Bob.

When relatively 'famous' loud mouths came to upstate New York for a race and wanted to go faster than the rest, you guessed it!

The phone was ringing in Bedrock.

I spent most of the 60's and 70's in a little place called Oswego NY.

Not many would understand why, but that's always been OK with me. The fastest cars on this side of the planet and more famous drivers than you can shake a stick at, hardly held any appeal to anyone back in the day.

The facts were, Indianapolis was where you went fast.

Oswego was just a little spot on the map by Lake Ontario, where you went really, really fast.

"Uncle Bob" was never called that, as I grew up at the track. He was always just plain old Bob. I've said it before I know, but all of my Dad's buddies were "Uncles." The more I look back now, the more I know that folks like Uncle Bob are the main reason, I am the way I am today.

Go fast, turn left and live one hell of a lot longer than you have so far Uncle Bob. I plan to hear and relive a few more of those stories, from our oh so golden day's.

So forgive my selfishness if you can and hang around the garage for just a little while longer if you wouldn't mind. In fact, I have a great idea! Dad just gave me two whole dimes for welding on that old frame! I'll put'em in the machine over there and grab us both a Pepsi. We can cool down while we're talking.

My sincerest thanks for dropping by....


lightning36 said...

Always a good read, Bam.

Those old memories are oftentimes the best. Sounds like you had a lot of fun.

DrChako said...

Best wishes from one car nut to another.


DrewFours said...

Any one who can survive running modifieds at Oswego out to be able to overcome a little KO.

I enjoyed the reading, love the photos, and REALLY hope your 'uncle' pulls through. I'll keep him in my thoughts!