RE: stories from Steve
RESURRECTION CHALLENGER
It was a small ad in the Detroit News that caught my eye. “1970 Dodge Challenger, 440, orange, and a phone number.” On one hand, the brief ad described a car I had wanted for 24 years, on the other my building was crowded with projects and my list of unfinished tasks was long. I clipped the ad and set it aside. The small clipping haunted me for two months. One day, curiously, I dialed the number. A woman answered. She did not know any details about the car, only that they still had it and yes, it was still for sale. I left her my phone number and told her I was in no rush. A few minutes later, her husband, Mike returned my call. We spoke a bit. Mike assured me that the car was a gem, that he’d been working on the car, that it was an early build with a double data plate that had been decoded by Grovier himself. From his description, the car sounded “just right.” His small rural Michigan community was far from home and inconvenient for me to go for a look. We left it at that. More than a month later, I had occasion to visit Lansing, Michigan, and would be passing close enough to look at the car, if it was still there. When I called, I learned that the Challenger was still available, that there had been no other calls, and he had been hoping I would call back.
At the agreed upon time, I met Mike and he pulled aside the large sliding pole barn doors. Indeed, there sat an orange Challenger. It’s grill was askew, the vinyl top tattered. It sat deep in the dirt floor, the right front tire was flat. Still the Challenger was clearly muscular with its belt line kick as sassy as ever. His description of the car had not been untruthful, it was however optimistic.
He had worked on the car from time to time, taking off the door handles and draining the fluids. It sat nearly axle deep in the dirt floor of the pole barn. Rust was everywhere, the upholstery in shreds, the windshield was cracked. There was no way to tell what worked and what did not, every component needed attention. There was however the RB 440 stuffed into the K member and 2 data plates riveted to the inner fender. We haggled over price. “Do you know what this will be worth when it’s done?”, he asked. “Yes, and I know what it will take to get it there,” I countered. “I’ll cut it up and sell it for parts ” He screamed. “You can’t sell a broken windshield or a bent hood.” I explained. I offered to buy the block and the data plates if he threw everything else in for free. “Get off my land ” he exclaimed. “It’s been for sale for four months, I’m the only looker and the only offer, there is no one in line behind me,” I countered. A deal was struck with the stipulation that I’d move the car within a week.
Arranging a tow, among my car buddies was an easy task. But actually moving the Challenger was another altogether. Mike was supposed to arrange some friends to help push the car out of the dirt and onto the trailer. At the appointed time, Mike and crew were replaced by his wife carrying her newborn infant son. Mike had instructed her not to let me touch the car or have the title until she had the money in hand ($2,000). I counted out the $100.00 dollar bills on the fender, and she produced the title and keys. With her baby in one arm and her purse over the other she took a position, her hand on the trunk, ready to help push. Thoughtful, yet ridiculous.
Together, Jay and I wrapped a heavy chain around the Challenger’s underbody and to the hitch of Jay’s truck. The aging Challenger groaned as it lifted out of the dirt and creaked into daylight. Car guys do dumb and unsafe things and live to tell about it. We had no winch to pull the Challenger up onto the trailer. Compounding the Challenger challenge was the flat front tire and 500 pounds of dead engine weight. The property there was on a hill side, the driveway on a steep slope. We decide to position the trailer at the bottom of