...although, if I may, I've got to relay a story of my own a bit related to what Greek Basturd and Scott were refering to.
When I first got the Kirkham put together about six years ago, something happened about a week before the Fling that year which required me to have the motor pulled. I was up to my ass in work and couldn't touch it, and the mechanic I normally would use was out sick...had to use a guy who did hot rod work who really hadn't dealt with Cobras before. He was damn careful...didn't scratch a thing...and by gawd, he got it all put back together in time to have it shipped from Fresno to London.
Now mind you, this thing had about 200 miles on it. So The Formerly Large Mikie and I jump in it and do some major burnouts in London...despite the additional traction aided weight...and everything runs well. But later in the day, Turk in his CSX and I match off in a high speed run along that old four lane that led from London back to the motels...he had Bob Marsh from Shelby with him and I had Computerworks. So we're about dead even for several miles, and then he just starts pulling away. No way he should be able to do that given the monster I had.
Later, when we all got chassis-dynoed (that would be at the point in time in which Hotfingers and I swapped spit when it appeared I cut in line in front of him), the damn thing only pulled about 360hp at the rear wheels. WTF? I mean, we had some major folks looking at this thing and couldn't figure it out.
A year later, Buckley, Turk and I head to Redding and go flat out on I-5 a few times...again, up to a certain speed, three unpainted tin cans rolling down the highway at the same speed, and then the other two start pulling away (Buckley finally outpulled Turk, truth be told).
The next day, we're cruising around Redding and coming back from Shast Dam and pull over for a cool drink. Buckley comes over and pops the hood after I shut it down, takes the air cleaner off and tells me to slowly floor the gas pedal (motor's off), and starts laughing his ass off.
The linkage was tapping out against the old Lucas fan relay next to the fuse box. The secondaries weren't even opening. So, of course, tool bags come out and he fixes it right then and there.
I couldn't keep my phuking foot out of it all the way back to Sacramento, despite a downpour the whole way home (with Turk stopping at every overpass to light a cig).
Nobody's passed me since.
And as for Hotfingers, as Mikie sorta implied, he knows very well of what he speaks about WOT and a Cobra's ability to fly a fter a little 1/8 mile demo. I would say that the butt clenching that must have occurred is the only thing that saved his driver's suit from a horrific ending. But, by God, he never let go and lived to tell about it.
Moral of the story...even the best mechanics can miss sh!t.
