The temperature races past the century mark by mid-morning. On your way to San Francisco, your car overheats and is now steaming on the side of Interstate 5. Trudging for the nearest gas station, you feel like you have to chew each breath, struggling to draw in the mossy air tinged with dry grass and cow manure. You hear a rumble coming up behind youa little clunky, but clearly distinctive. You turn around to see a 51 Chevy Suburban rolling your way, steady and slow like an old gray workhorse. An image flashes through your mind of the dusty old days when California was a secret Eden, when almond trees and wine grapes were hand-picked, packed into wooden crates, and strapped atop the roofs of trucks exactly like the one cruising past. Then, as quickly as itd come, the fantasy dissolves with a sharp honk, followed by the usual flood of SUVs.
Now, instead of being that sweaty daydreamer on the side of the road, imagine youre Tim Kelly, the owner of this sweet old Suburban. Youre on your way home to Stockton, California, comfortable with the cool breeze drifting from the Vintage Air system. The afternoon sun peeks through your Lexus moonroof, gently warming the soft beige vinyl bucket seats up front. Your Dakota Digital instruments indicate alls well with the coolant and oil, and youre cruising at the speed limit. A slow song seeps out from the Eclipse 10-disc CD changer through each of the four speakers, vying to keep your attention as the engines deep purr soothes you.
That purr emanates from a mildly upgraded GM Goodwrench replacement 350 crate engine. The Edelbrock Performer intake manifold and 600-cfm carb bolted to the crate motor seem to have stepped up its output considerably, and the March serpentine accessory pulley system drives the updated alternator, A/C compressor, and power steering pump without a hitch. The engine bay has come a long way since the first time you saw it, when the last owner was attempting to feed the sick Six with a coffee can full of fuel while his wife stood on the starter pedal and pumped the throttle.
That recollection triggers another: Youd spent the entire trip home questioning yourself for getting involved with the huge mess you were towing home. The creeping sensation of buyers remorse heightened when you dug in, clearing out the years of compiled vegetation inside, fending off the deadly black widow spiders crawling everywhere. Closer inspection had revealed a drivers door stuffed full of rolling papers, side windows bordered with frayed tie-dyed curtains, and a panoramic night-sky blanket serving as a headliner. Then the epiphany: Youd just bought yourself a full-blown hippie van, one that was likely lived in for some time.
Still daydreaming, you recall how youd remained undeterred. You had pressed on, shaving the door handles along with the side cowl vent, and frenching the taillights. Further surgery involved adding a new firewall and replacing the rotted floor sections. Then Jim Hayes shop took over, dipping the body in acid, finishing the bodywork and drowning it in 98 Ford Expedition Medium Wedgwood Blue paint.
The memories get sweeter as you think back to the day the body returned from Jims looking better than it had even in 1951. Your enthusiasm had been at an all-time high when you moved to the chassis. After installing Mustang II front suspension with Falcon six-cylinder springs up front and adding custom gas shocks to steady the Lincoln Versailles 9-inch rear out back, the 350 was bolted in with a rebuilt 700-R4 transmission.
And now, after all those trials and tribulations, youre finally enjoying the first cruise. As you bathe in the afterglow of a job well done, fascinated by how steady and smooth the ol Burb is at speed, you notice a motorist walking about twenty paces ahead of his smoking car. Feeling good, you consider going back to help the poor sap by offering a lift. After all, hed been staring at the Suburban for the better part of the last half-mile.