Captainkirk's Duster project

OK- enough of that "brand-X" crap....back to the only Motor that Matters......MOPAR.

The old Duster was garnering quite a reputation around town, both by those who knew me, and by those who didn't....yet. Remember, the car was not yet wearing new colors and I was still cruisin' around with a blue deck lid, orange hood (I'd put it back on by then) and primer-gray left quarter and Bondo repairs. My dad referred to it as my "Navajo Cadillac"...I referred to it as my Joseph car (with it's Coat of Many Colors). Anyway, it didn't resemble any of the museum-quality musclecars that occasionally graced the streets of Mudville.
Mind you, I didn't deliberately go out looking for trouble. It went looking for me most of the time......
Like the time I was out just wasting fossil fuel; I pulled up to the traffic lights heading out of town on a four-lane highway. It was a hot June night and the windows were down; I could smell the fuel-laden exhaust and feel the thudding in my ears. The Hurst was chattering away merrily and the hood was shaking like a dog that just ambled out of a country pond, the streetlights wiggling their reflection in limpid pools on the hood as if trying to jump off. I just happened to be outside of our favorite restaurant, Dale's Coffee shop, where we motor heads hung out. There I was, minding my own business at the red light, when a brand-new Trans-Am pulled up in the right lane. There were two guys and two girls in the car. Obviously, the guys were trying to impress the girls....maybe fishing for prom dates.... They had the T-tops off and all the windows down, and the radio was blasting some typical late-seventies music-R.E.O. Speedwagon comes to mind- and these guys are hootin' and hollerin' at the old Navvy Caddy (I still prefer Joseph). That didn't bother me much. Then the moron goes and starts revvin' his Big Bad 6.6L...outside my hangout, with who-knows-who inside looking out! Well, frankly, brother...that pissed me off. I paid no attention and stared straight ahead...(but my eyes were glued the opposite set of lights.......lordy, this is the longest light I've ever sat through......and then it goes yellow. Every muscle was tensed, right hand on the Hurst T-handle, the tip of my toes poised like a tiger crouched and ready to pounce while these dope-smoking punks were laughing and carrying on with no freakin' idea of what was gonna go down here.....)
The opposite light turned red a split-second before ours went green......but I saw it. Dinkweed next to me got caught with his trousers down in the middle of one of his looong, obnoxious revs. I dumped the clutch and put my foot in it so hard I thought it might poke through the floorboard. The E-60's let out a howl like the Hound of the Baskervilles and started rolling smoke while the rear end of the car slid left across the double yellow. 6500, slammed second and pounced on it again. Both rears lit up again and the rear swung to the right, in front of the Super Chicken (which was by now, at least 6 car-lengths behind me). I banged third and the rear end swung back to the left again....the little motor was talkin' the talk and walkin' the walk now, yowling like a wildcat with his hind foot caught in a blender. The noise was deafening. I really hit my stride with fourth and as I rounded a gentle curve, glanced back in the rear-view. The Thunder Chicken's headlights shown waaaaaayyyy back there...maybe a quarter mile or so.....as I rounded the curve and throttled 'er back to a "reasonable" 70 mph. It was great to be alive! The motor was thrumming out it's testosterone-laden song and galloping like a thoroughbred who has just outrun the entire field and has settled into his pace; a true untamed wild stallion, and I could smell the night smell and fresh-mown grass and I reached over and popped in a cassette; Eagles; On The Border and Glenn Frey was belting out Tom Waits....."Well, it happened so quickly/I went lickety-splitly/Out to my old '55...."
I guess those two guys didn't get prom dates after all.