Story of the month

by CC Member Bob Worley (Submited 12-06-2000)

3.14.1998 – Dallas, Texas

As I approached the enclosed gooseneck trailer with Doug Reed, owner of Superformance South in Chalmette, Louisiana, I could already feel my heartbeat rising. Doug slid a key in the padlock on a side door and unlocked it. As the door swung past my head, out of the darkness within I saw my first glimpse of what would become my passion. Just a hint of a maroon fender in that familiar, unmistakable shape, covering a Goodyear Eagle II tire around a Hallibrand wheel on authentic pin drive hubs...my heart raced a little faster now. I peaked in the door and, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness inside, it became more clear - chrome on brass windscreen with authentic side wings, a low slung passenger door, a huge rear tire bulging from underneath a swelling rear fender well, and that long, silver, massive side pipe originating through a maroon front fender - just below a shiny chrome emblem that plainly states “427 Cobra - Powered by Ford”.

Doug Reed was now at the rear door of the trailer that doubled as a ramp. I walked briskly to the back of the trailer, attempting to hide my excitement that was now overflowing. He lowered the door/ramp and walked in to “warm it up”. How will it sound? I silently wondered as I stood just inside the trailer, my sweaty hands buried in the pockets of my denim jacket.

Doug climbed in the driver’s seat and blipped the throttle a few times to prime the carb. “The plugs are fouled, it might be a little rough”, he warned. He was right. A few turns of the starter only resulted in coughs and spurts. Then the third try brought the Ford 351 SVO to life - the entire enclosed two-car trailer was instantly filled with the most beautiful noise you can imagine. Every hair stood on end, and I could feel my gut tighten with anticipation. The smell of unburned fuel filled my nostrils. I took in a deep breath, and gave up on any attempt to hide my gleaming smile. Doug was wrestling the beast under the hood with his right foot, struggling to keep it alive. The V8 was sleepy and angry, not wanting to come out into the clear, crisp and sunny winter day to play. But I wasn’t having any of that, we were going for a RIDE!

Still struggling with the rough idle of the engine, Doug slowly backed the car (if you can call it just a “car”) down the ramp and onto the asphalt of the parking lot. There stood my dream in full view - an authentic recreation of the original Shelby American 427 Cobra S/C. This “demo” model did not have the original 427 cid side-oiler motor, but a rather tamed-by-comparison 351 cid Ford SVO crate motor from Ford Motorsports, rated at 385 bhp, and mated to a Tremac 5-speed transmission. The all too familiar Cobra body was painted a maroon base color with the signature white stripes. Authentic S/C trim was apparent, including quick-jack bumpers, side exhaust, stainless steel Le Mans-style gas cap, and instrument panel with Smiths gauges, every switch and indicator meticulously placed to match the original. I stood and stared in amazement as Doug prepared this Cobra for the first ride of my life.

He leaned over the drivers-side fender, twisted the two chrome hood latches and lifted the hood to expose the Ford V8. Still idling rough in protest, the heart of this Cobra loped along, barely running. Doug pulled the throttle linkage by hand, and the engine roared out loud. I felt the hot breath of this monster blowing on my legs from its massive side pipes. “Hold the throttle!” Doug shouted at me over the roar of the engine. I grabbed the side of the big Holley double pumper, and opened it up. Another angry growl from the engine, and my heart raced with it. I tried holding the idle at about 1500 rpm as Doug adjusted the idle screw up. I started to wonder: Will I get to drive? Can I find the gears on this reverse shift lever? Will I be able to control the beast? Okay, I’ll just take it easy through the gears...

“Okay, lets give her a run”, Doug said, and dropped the hood down. The engine was now running at a low steady rumble, and quickly coming up to operating temp.

I stood back, not wanting to appear too anxious. Would I get to drive? I wondered to myself again. Do I want to just yet? I wasn’t sure. Maybe I should just ride. Yea, that would be safer.

Doug hopped in the driver’s seat, and my question was answered. I was somewhat relieved, actually. I didn’t want to embarrass myself the first time out. “Well, hop in!” he shouted over the rumble of the side pipes.

I looked down at the passenger door. No exterior door handle. I knew that, I realized. I reached over the door and fumbled with the latch on the inside. Nothing. “Let me show you, its real easy once you get the hang of it”, said Doug. He pulled on a leather strap that ran along the top of the leather door panel, attached on the aft to the latch. The door popped open and swung out. “Slam it hard, it’s meant to be slammed”, he instructed. I moved the 3-inch lap belts aside and sat down in the black leather bucket seat. I was amazed at how well it “fit”. The seat back nestled my hipbones, and supported my lower back perfectly. Just as if you were to walk into a shoe store, find the first pair you wanted tried them on and they fit perfectly. I was excited! I fumbled once more with the large 3-inch lap belt, figured out the buckle and cinched it tight. I then snapped the passenger door shut firmly as instructed, and grinned at the solid “chunk” sound the door made when closed. No rattle or shake at all.

I noticed how close my seat was to the floor, as my legs were extended almost straight ahead. I was relieved to see that there was ample legroom for a large adult, as my 5’ 7” stature left plenty of room for movement. I wondered if my jacket would be warm enough, and snapped a few more buttons closed. This February day in Texas was clear and sunny, but a crisp 50 degrees. I had rained the night before, and the large parking lot of Market Hall was littered with puddles. My right arm settled down nicely on the top of the door as I extend my elbow over the edge, and I was ready to go.

Doug dropped the 5-speed into 1^st gear and proceeded slowly across the parking lot. I scanned the gauges - water temp, oil temp - and wasn’t sure what was normal; the display was in degrees Celsius, as per the original, of course. The tachometer was just to the right of the steering column, directly in the driver’s line of sight. The speedometer was a Smiths gauge in dead center of the dashboard to the driver’s right, reverse wound with the needle turning counter-clockwise, as per the original again. We rolled through the parking lot, dodging rain puddles, until we stopped at the intersection that crosses Stemmons Freeway just north of downtown Dallas. Doug maneuvered through the parking lot traffic to turn north onto the frontage road. As the light turned green, he pulled onto the service road. I noticed that there were three lanes of unobstructed roadway ahead, and I knew what was coming next. As Doug was completing the turn onto the service road he NAILED it. My head was thrown back instantly and my neck muscles strained to keep my vision projected straight ahead. Both of the massive Goodyear Eagles broke loose on the rear, and Doug gracefully held the Cobra in a slight 4-wheel drift to the left. SLAM into second gear, and then third - and we were seriously moving! From zero to 100 mph in only a few slight seconds and Doug leaned hard on the four-wheel disc brakes to scrub off the instant velocity we had just achieved. “Yes!” I screamed uncontrollably, and laughed out loud, my eyes watering in excitement. Now my heart was in a full-bore pump. The unbelievable roar of the side pipes still ringing in my ears, we entered the on ramp to the freeway, and merged steadily into the flow of the lunch-hour traffic. “Whew! That was unbelievable!” I yelled over the exhaust tone to Doug. Surprisingly, it was not that windy or noisy in the cockpit of this road rocket at 65mph. A conversion could be carried on quite easily, as long as the RPMs of the engine were kept in check. Doug slid the 5-speed shifter into fourth gear, and then fifth, and the engine’s song dropped down to a very deep purr, the V8 pulling us along with only minimal effort. “In fifth gear you are turning 2000 rpm at 65 miles per hour,” Doug leaned over and said. “You can drive all day long at 24, 25 miles per gallon.” I glanced over at the tachometer, and its needle was holding steady at just under the 2x1000 mark. Speedometer was right on 60. We were humming along very comfortably, and my attention started to drift. I envisioned driving through the Hill Country of south central Texas, gliding down Hwy 281 to our favorite vacation spot - or maybe cruising down the old Route 66 through the mountains of northern Arizona to get a peek of the Grand Canyon and then on to Lake Powell for a week or two of careless relaxation with close friends…

I snapped back to reality as Doug downshifted to 4^th gear and changed lanes, passing a slower minivan. I watched the drivers around us, staring as we drove by with ease. Doug was describing the water and oil temperature gauges, commenting on what should be the optimum operating temperature. I was having a hard time retaining everything he taught, as I was grinning too much, enjoying the cool wind blowing through my hair, admiring every line of the Cobra body from my first view inside a Cobra cockpit. I subconsciously grabbed the lap belt and pulled it tighter across my waist.

I few miles up the freeway, Doug exited and drove down a side road into an industrial business park. He found a cul-de-sac at the end of a back street, and then ran the car hard into several 360° turns, and I was forced by centrifugal force into the passenger door, my grin stretching the physical limits of my facial muscles. The tires held their grip quite nice, as Doug controlled the continuous turning by holding the steering wheel at full lock and throttle-steering with the accelerator. After a few dizzying turns he turned the Cobra straight, came to stop and killed the engine. “Okay, your turn”, he said. YES! I thought out loud. I couldn’t believe it, I was finally going to drive a Cobra!

I pulled my lapbelt release and jumped out of the seat, remembering to avoid the hot side pipes by reaching my right leg as far as possible out of the car. “Gotta remember to remind the wife about that someday...” I thought to myself. I then walked to the driver’s side, and slid down into the seat. Doug is about my height, and the seat adjustment and pedal reach was just about right. But I noticed right off how the pedal set is offset of the left, due to the overwhelming space the transmission tunnel occupies to accommodate a big V8 sitting back in the chassis, just inches away. Testing the pedals, the most important one on THIS day would be the brake, and I was having trouble fitting the large rubber sole of my leather Nike hiking boots on the brake without rubbing against the clutch and throttle pedals. I did NOT want to accidentally hit the throttle while braking; I was not ready to start practicing my heal-toe technique in a Cobra just yet! So to be safe, I took my boots off and prepared to drive in bare socks. I’d get a better feel for the pedals anyway. I checked the two rear-view mirrors; one mounted on the cowl directly in the center of the car behind the windscreen, and the other one forward of the windscreen on the left fender. Neither was particularly useful due to the large “bulge” of the flared rear fenders covering those massive 275/60R15 Goodyear tires. I made a mental note to always check behind and to the side by turning my head to look, and not rely on the mirrors.

Cinching my safety belts once more, I was ready to go! I reached to start the engine – oops, where’s the ignition switch? Oh yea, it’s on the LEFT side of the steering column… I checked the shifter to make sure the Tremac 5-speed was in neutral, turned the ignition switch for the first time using my left hand, and the 351 small block roared back to life. I blipped the throttle a few times, and my heart raced along with the engine. I depressed the clutch and realized that it is much firmer, and would require more effort than I was used to with my Datsun 280-Z hydraulic clutch. I pressed the shifter left, and more down than forward into first gear, gently “squeezed” the throttle and slowly released the clutch. The Cobra pulled forward very smoothly, and I kept the revs low by quickly shifting into 2^nd, and then 3^rd gear as we cruised around the back roads of the industrial park. The Cobra felt very good; too good! Initially I struggled to find the gears, especially between 2^nd and 3^rd, due to the forward-facing shifter. But before long it became comfortable. Signaling turns with the indicator lights was a new learning experience too, as the switch is on the right side of the steering column, not the left side like all other cars. Everything about this Cobra is unique, and I loved it!! We cruised through the back roads, over railroad tracks and questionable road surfaces cover with asphalt-filled potholes. I was amazed by how solid and quiet the entire car was. There was very little if any rattle, and the steering and suspension was very solid and responsive. This was a “factory-built” high performance sports car, no doubt – not a home-built “kit car”, and I was sold.

Much too soon, we were headed back to Market Hall, going south on Harry Hines boulevard. The traffic around us was now increasing, and I was beaming with delight! As we approached the medical complex of Children’s Medical Center and Parkland Hospital we were stopped by a red light. Sitting in the far right lane, the engine grumbled and bellowed at idle. I couldn’t help “blipping” the throttle to hear that hair-racing sound of exhaust exiting out the side pipe just inches below my door. There was a large crowd of lunch-hour hospital workers in the crosswalk immediately in front of us, and everyone was turning their heads looking at us! A larger crowd of several dozen people was waiting at the bus stop just a few yards down the sidewalk in front of us. When the light turned green and the crosswalk cleared, I got a little anxious and the rear tires broke loose and squealed when I dumped the clutch – too late to stop now!! Using less than half-throttle, and quickly shifted to 2^nd gear, and the tire broke loose and squealed again! We were now several car lengths ahead of every other car back at the light, all alone on the road. I had that one moment to live over and over again in my mind, until the day I buy my own Superformance Cobra. We were now back at Market Hall, and I reluctantly turned onto Market Center boulevard and back into the parking lot, back to the enclosed trailer where we started. It seemed like it was all over in a matter of seconds. But thanks to Doug Reed, that day I became a Superformance customer. It might take years to achieve the financial goals required to order my Superformance Cobra, but I still have that Friday February afternoon when I got my FIRST drive in a real Cobra to relive over and over in my mind. It’s the last thing I think of every night, and the first thing I think of every morning.