The 572 with 8:71 super charger is built to run full throttle for hours
The silence is torn apart when the 572 c.i. motor with 8:71 Littlefield super charger starts to live. The wheels are moving as the Chevrolet dig out of the garage. JJ shifts to reverse and drive and each time he puts the Powerglide in gear the rear wheels spins on the concrete Rupp – Rupp – Rupp – Rupp.
The enormous engine struggling to get air where JJ holds the birdcatcher closed in order not to end up in the lake with the car. The short-barreled exhaust pipes perforates the air, pushes the dust aside bouncing compressed fumes against the ground up towards flesh and blood, where they dig into the spinal cord and memory storage.
The giant mill stands
snoring up and down in
an idle from heaven
balancing between
zero and 800. So he
turns it off. I am the
second owner of the
car, he says, inviting
me on the front porch and
serves ice water. Lizards rushing across
the planks and the birds comes back in the trees. The wind has died down. The lake is black. Afternoon heat standing still. JJ tells in detail:
There I was in 1972, 16 years old doing things my own way as always.
I was in love. Ohh, I had girls and stuff but then came the 54! In the school parking lot was -55, -56, -57 Chevys when the -54 rolled into my life.
This was true love! I did enjoy the few months before disappearing in a flash. The guy who had it were older and appeared in a shiny Camaro instead. I asked about the 54. He told me it was
his grandfathers and that he could
possibly sell it for $350.
That was a lot of
money then, so I asked
my father. He said no
but I was hopelessly in
love. With 200 money I
earned from mowing
lawns of neighbors plus
loaded with an additional
150 bucks I borrowed from
my sister, I went to the old man. He then said he wanted 375 and the battery, he would have returned. I arranged in any manner the $ 25 and went home proud. Once home, I lifted the hood. Then came my father.