The Beginning

In the beginning of this adventure is the most likely place to start this conversation.
It really began as any good bench racing fable starts out, "I know of this little old lady down the block that parked her '32 Vicky when her husband didn't come back from the war and the car hasn't been out of the garage since!" It even sounds like a fable when you read it.

Growing  up at my father's knee listening to specifications of the years highest-rated cars and recounts of the exploits of the god's of speed. These stories where just stories, something to capture to child's imagination, bedtime stories. However as adultecance gave way to the nightmare of teenagerizm,  those stories grew from a fable to a wisper of truth. Somebody knows somebody that has actually had the experience, or so I was told.

The first fable I remember was actually of a '32 Ford, then I saw it, it was real. The possibilities that those stories could actually be true where almost more than this mans teenage boyish mind could handle. In the flesh, real 70 or more year old steel, I could touch, smell it, taste it, that would have been going to far. It was my first, and I won't soon forget it, an original flathead in it's original packaging. It's long moved onto to new homes, new ride height and other boys dreams, but it's still in that garage for me.

As my own maturity arrived and I began and failed at my first restorations and modifications of the automotive industry. ny knowledge has always been best garnered the most difficult ways possible, it's far easier for some to buy a custom opposed to building it. No eighteen year old  has the mental capacity to think far enough ahaed. That experience was a black 1958 VW bug that I crammed into my parents garage with visions of a full custom restoration project dancing in my head like sugarplums on Christmas eve. It's one thing to disassemble a bug down to every nut and bolt, it's all together something else to put it back together again.

For years I had heard stories of an acre field next to a farmhouse that was packed with cars and trucks, not a one newer than 1942. I  believed it in the since that I'm sure it was there, forty years ago. However this was the new millennium, a new century, they are running out of dinosaurs to dig up, surely that field had been pillaged ages before I was even bore. One sunny Saturday afternoon I saw it just out of the corner of my eye,  buzzing down a rural back road on my way out camping. The craziest thing about it is the fact that it really was right where everyone had said it was all along. Sometimes when someone tells you about something, it might just be worth your time to go take a look. Find a good place along the way for a greasy burger and a few pints, that way you win either way.

My experience is to be continued....