Rules of the Road ©2016 by Geron Kees. All rights reserved.
This story is a work of fiction and depicts sexual activities between minors. All characters and situations are imaginary. No real people were harmed in the creation of this presentation. Please observe the laws of your jurisdiction with reference to reading this material.
If you're not 18, you shouldn't be reading this at all. Go find a boyfriend and talk stuff over with him.
Nifty is a joint endeavor, conceived by, maintained by, and frequented by people of like thinking. It plays an important role in the sharing and preservation of LGBT lifestyles, culture, and dreams. Please support Nifty at every chance you can:
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Address story comments/criticism to: Geron Kees at <geronkees@runbox.com>______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter 5 --
Brian decided to keep it a secret. Ed was the only one that knew about
it, besides Brian and his dad. Brian decided that he would just simply
appear one day, with a new and improved Super Bee, and let things fall
after that where they may. The fun that could be had this way seemed
well worth sitting on the exciting news.
His dad found another 383 Magnum, a low-milager from a wrecked Charger
at the junkyard where he had been dealing for years. They took the
engine to his dad's buddy Carl at Superior Speed, one of the local
machine shops along Route 5. There the engine was disassembled and the
block and heads acid dipped to clean them, and rust inhibitor applied.
After that, the block and heads were checked for cracks and warpage.
Carl called the day after that had been done, to pronounce the block and
heads sound and ask what was to be done next. The engine hadn't had
thirty thousand miles on it, so Carl said they could just hone the
cylinders without any need to bore them out.
Brian and his dad had created a list of parts and ordered them by phone,
and another list of things to do, and his dad read them off to Carl on
the phone. "Can you guys cut the valve seats three angles for me? Polish
the ports, too. I've ordered adjustable rockers for the hydraulic
lifters for this engine, and heavy-duty valve springs and retainers. You
should be getting a Kellogg forged steel crank from Kar Supply, and the
pistons, too. Yeah, it's a TRW forged kit. We're upping the compression
from 10.25 to 11.00 to one. The cam is a Crower, and it's the
humpty-dumpty we talked about. Yeah, that should be there soon, too. I
got a six quart pan to go underneath, but that'll come here unless you
want it for some reason. I want the short block balanced, okay?"
He listened a bit, shook his head. "Nah. Shit, Mopar two-bolt mains are
stronger than Chevy four bolt mains. Unless you think we need that for
some reason, I see no need to cross drill the caps. The engine will be
good for seven grand just on what we've got. Huh? Are you kidding? No,
you don't have to blueprint it. We don't have that kind of money to
spend on something that won't matter here. Oh - you're being funny.
Okay, I'm laughing." He did laugh then. "It's a daily driver, Carl, and
we just want it to smile a little while it's doing that. Yeah. What do
you think?"
He listened, nodded. "Great. I'll tell Brian."
He hung up the phone. "Everything's set."
They decided that the machine shop was going to assemble the short block
and the heads, and then Brian and his dad would do the final assembly in
the garage.
There was a bit of math involved in stuff like this, and Brian learned
how it all worked. You needed to know about airflow and gas requirements
for the engine to determine the best intake and carburetion, and his dad
worked that out and they matched it to an Edelbrock Tarantula intake and
a Holley 750 cfm, dual-feed, double pumper carb.
To spark the cylinders they bought an Accel dual-point distributor and
high-energy coil, at the last minute eschewing a new solid-state set up
when the dependability of the unit was called into question in track
literature that his father received. While his dad hadn't built a car of
his own in many years, he kept his hand in by helping friends that did,
and still knew quite a few people in the business of racing.
One day, Brian was doing his homework when his dad came home from work.
"Hey, Brian. Can you come help me with something?"
"Sure." Brian followed his dad down to the garage, where the trunk of
the Monte Carlo was up. A large box was inside, and the trunk lid was
held down with bungees.
"What's this?" Brian asked.
"Your headers." His dad grinned. "They're not heavy, just bulky."
They removed the box and put it in the corner of the garage by the
workbench.
His dad grinned. "One more thing, coming tomorrow."
Brian laughed. "What's that?"
"A surprise. You'll see."
When Brian came home from school the next day, there was a crate in the
driveway. The invoice on it said it was from B&M Racing, and while
Brian felt a thrill, thinking he knew what it might be, he didn't dare
open the crate before his dad got home lest he spoil the man's fun.
When his dad arrived from work they opened the crate. Inside was a
transmission, painted a clean, bright blue.
"Carl and I got to talking, and he said he was estimating the output of
the new engine at 525 horsepower."
Brian simply gaped.
His dad nodded. "No shit. Well, we talked some more, and we decided that
the first casualty of all that extra power was going to be your stock
transmission with its 80,000 miles. So, I ordered this one, because it
will be a lot easier to do the replacement when we do the engine swap
then to go back and do it all again later." He tapped the crate with his
shoe. "Probably weighs two hundred pounds, but I think we can get it
inside."
It was a struggle, but they managed to drag the crate in and put it by
the workbench.
"I have a few things in the car, too."
A few things proved to be a transmission cooler kit, which consisted of
a small radiator that mounted in front of the Bee's primary cooling
radiator, along with braided steel lines, and fittings that connected it
all to the transmission. Also, there was a Hurst transmission-mounted
in-line shifter with a reverse pattern.
Park was all the way forward. You pulled it back one notch for reverse,
another notch for neutral. After that, you pulled it back another notch
for first gear. When you were racing, you just slapped it back and it
stopped at second by itself. Another quick slap would bring it back into
third. It was ratcheted, and impossible to accidentally yank it through
second and right into third. Flawless racing.
"Fortunately, your Bee already has the big, cross-flow radiator, so we
don't have to replace that." He tapped the crate holding the
transmission. "This is a special box, Brian. This transmission has a
full-manual valvebody in it. It won't shift by itself. You have to do it
on your own. It also has a 3,500 RPM stall-speed convertor, so that you
can sit on the line and crank a few revs before take off. This thing
should launch you about as quickly as any four-speed out there." He
smiled. "And, it's a Hemi Torqueflite, so it is about as bulletproof as
it gets. You'll twist the car in half before you break this
transmission."
"I'm afraid to ask what it cost," Brian said.
His father shrugged. "Well, I budgeted about thirty-five hundred for the
car I was going to get for you, and we're not there yet, although
between this and the engine we are getting up there. We still have to
buy some nice chrome or aluminum valve covers, and an air cleaner,
because that stock ram-air cleaner won't fit on the Holley. It sits too
high on the new manifold."
"Dad." Brian was at a loss for words.
His dad clapped him on the shoulder. "Something?"
"Yeah. Why are you doing all this?"
His dad squeezed him. "Brian, this is a growth experience for you.
Having a car like this is going to give you memories you'll have your
entire life. I have mine, so I know. I want yours to be as good as mine
are for me." He sighed. "If you are going to have a hot car, it should
be a hot car."
Brian grinned. "I think we're about there, dad."
"So do I, son. I can't wait to ride in the damn thing."
Ed was almost as excited about all the new toys as Brian was. He showed
up every day, looked everything over, and clapped his hands together. "I
can't wait to see the look on Colin's face the next time he tries to
show you up."
In the interval, the Bee developed a reputation as a solid performer, if
not the quickest car in those parts. Brian beat nearly everything that
compared to the Bee in performance, though he lost a few, too, to cars
that obviously had had work done to them.
Colin had had a kind of superior air about him ever since the run that
night coming back from Zion, though he seemed to be careful not to show
it off in front of Ed. Somehow he sensed that Ed was mad at him - maybe
it was because Ed told him he was a lame-ass, shithead, cocksucker in
front of half the car crowd the day after the race.
Brian just smiled when the two were around each other, imagining in his
mind a dance between a bullfighter with a wickedly pointed sword, and a
bull of somewhat cowardly demeanor, who was just scared shitless of the
color red. As in blood.
The engine was finally delivered to the house, and Brian and his dad
spent a Saturday putting the heads on and getting things ready for the
big day.
Finally, after more than a month of waiting for everything to come
together, the Saturday arrived for the swap.
Ed showed up early, determined to at least do his part handing wrenches
and screwdrivers and hefting heavy shit around. He was a pretty good car
guy like Brian, but both of them knew this was Brian's dad's baby, and
that they were there to follow his instructions as much as anything
else. Both expected to learn some things, and both were excited at the
prospect.
It only took a couple of hours to unbolt stuff, drain the transmission
and cooling system, separate the engine from the transmission and
exhaust system, remove the old exhaust manifolds, and pluck the old 383
out with his dad's engine lift. They used the big floor jack to raise
the car and they pulled the old transmission out from underneath. They
inserted the new exhaust headers, cut a hole through the floor pan for
the new shifter, put the new transmission in, carefully put another jack
underneath it to hold it up, and let both the car and the transmission
down together.
In went the new engine, suspended by a chain from the engine lift. It
was a tricky business getting the block lined up with the transmission
housing, and then bolting the flywheel to the torque convertor flex
plate, laying on their backs underneath; but they got that done, put the
access cover on, and ran the cooling lines forward. The shifter was
mounted and the linkage attached, and then they bolted the engine to the
mounts. The exhaust headers were bolted to the heads, the accessories
like the power steering pump and the alternator re-attached, and then
they put the distributor in and mounted the carburetor.
Six quarts of oil went into the oil pan through the new cast aluminum
valve cover fill, the cooling system was refilled, the radiator for the
transmission cooler mounted and the transmission filled with fluid, and
then they were almost ready for a test start to set the timing.
Brian's dad brought the number one piston up to top dead center, used a
ratchet and socket on the crank balancer and set the timing to twelve
degrees before that mark, and checked the distributor cap wiring to make
sure the rotor pointed the right way to ensure they didn't have the
distributor shaft in 180 degrees off. Then they all stepped back and sat
and drank soft drinks and ate ham and cheese sandwiches before the big
test.
"Six and a half hours," Brian's dad said. "Not too shabby."
"What about the old engine and trans?" Brian asked. "They're still
good."
His dad shrugged. "We'll keep 'em. There's room here. We might want them
again in case something goes blooie later. " He shrugged. "Happens."
Finally, they were ready. The cam specs only gave an about for timing
the engine, and Brian knew his dad was going to play it a little by ear.
To Brian's great surprise the engine started immediately, sounding deep
and powerful through the new exhaust headers, which had yet to be
connected to the exhaust system.
"Sheez," Ed said, covering his ears, "sounds like a damn funny car."
There was a pronounced lope to the engine at idle. They checked the
tach, brought the idle speed up to 900 RPMs. Seven hundred was stock,
but this baby was no longer stock. Even at 900 RPMs the duration of the
cam could be heard quite clearly.
They used a timing light and adjusted the timing to about where the cam
specs suggested, then shut the engine off, crawled underneath, cut the
exhaust pipes to match the new headers, and Brian's dad welded on new
flanges to bolt everything together.
The next time they started the new engine it was much quieter through
the mufflers, but still sounded like a different beast than the old
engine. They let it run awhile, and it seemed to be content to idle all
day. Finally, Brian's dad suggested they road test it.
They piled in, with Brian's dad in the shotgun seat and Ed in the back.
Brian backed the Bee out of the driveway and headed it up the street.
"Hesitates," he said immediately. "Timing's too far retarded."
His dad had him pull over and he got out, raised the hood, loosened the
distributor, turned it a bit, retightened it, got back in. "I advanced
the timing a little. Let's try it again."
The car was more responsive this time. Brian kept the RPM's down,
shifting too quickly, until his father smiled over at him. "It's not
made of glass, son. Let it wind up a little."
"I thought you weren't supposed to jump on new engines for a few hundred
miles."
"So don't jump on it. I would avoid a full-throttle run for a couple of
hundred miles, at least, although there are people who think you should
drive a new engine the way you always intend to drive it from the very
first day. If you're unsure, keep it under four grand for now. But you
can wind it up more than you are. When we get home we'll let it cool and
then we can pull the valve covers and re-torque the head bolts, and
check the header bolts."
The next time they stopped at a stop sign, Brian took off a little more
aggressively. The Bee simply turned the tires against the pavement with
a loud squeal, and launched itself forward with shocking power. Brian
shifted at four thousand RPMs, inducing the rear tires to break loose
with another loud squeal.
Definitely, the difference in performance over the old engine was
noticeable. Kind of like a hammer blow to the side of the head was. The
new one just oozed power, and the car moved with the purposeful energy
of a tyrannosaurus bounding after a spray of fleeing raptors.
Brian's dad looked over at him, smiling. "Feels somewhat beastlike,
doesn't it?"
Brian could only nod. In the rearview mirror, Ed was grinning
ear-to-ear. "You gotta winner here, Bry. I can't wait until you can run
her full out."
Brian nodded. Neither could he.
It was impossible to hide the Bee's change in personality from the car
crowd at school. Jim Van Pelt noticed right away that the car had
headers on it, because the collectors were visible underneath. Brian
claimed he had just put them on, as well as new mufflers, which
accounted for the car's different sound. He also showed off the new
shifter, which couldn't be hidden, either.
He was careful how he drove it in front of everyone, and they all seemed
to take him at his word on the changes except Jim Van Pelt, who pulled
him up in the gym one afternoon after a practice bout with the boxing
squad. Jim also boxed, but he was not as good as Brian, and made no
bones about his admiration for Brian's speed.
"If we were cars, you could take me easy in the quarter," Jim said,
smiling.
He frowned, looked around to make sure no one could hear them. "Come on,
Brian, 'fess up. You have a lot of new stuff under your hood. Who you
trying to kid?"
Brian decided to trust Jim. If the other guy suspected the changes but
hadn't told anyone, he probably wouldn't do it now.
"Its a new engine," Brian told him. "And a new transmission."
"Yeah? What's in it?"
Brian told him, and Van Pelt shook his head. "Holy shit. I'm gonna have
to look out for you now - maybe from behind you, too. You timed it in
the quarter yet?"
"No. I want to put about three hundred miles on it before I run it flat
out."
"How many you got now?"
"Well, Ed and I drive around in it every day after school. I've put a
couple of hundred miles on it, and it should be ready to go by the
weekend."
Jim nodded. "Tell you what. There's never anybody at Zion after school -
not until the evening. What say we run up there Friday after school and
see if we can get a time in the quarter. I have a stop watch - I'll
bring it."
Brian grinned. "Sounds like fun. I'm game."
Friday arrived, and Brian followed Jim up to Zion Road. A couple of
times along the way Jim jumped on it, sending his Roadrunner whipping
away; Brian did so, too, and was amazed at the way the Bee lit out after
the other car. He had no trouble at all keeping up, and when they got to
the starting line at Zion and stopped, Jim got out of his car and
climbed into the back of the Bee.
"I'm prepared to lose my crown today," he said, grinning. "Didn't look
like you had any trouble staying with me on the way."
"I didn't, " Brian acknowledged.
"What's your redline?" Jim asked.
Brian had had it set at 5,500 RPMs before the engine swap; his dad had
reset it to 6,500 RPMs after.
"Okay," Jim said. "We'll try a straight run, with all three of us
inside. You can subtract two tenths right off for our weight from
whatever we get. I'll call you. I'll give you a countdown, five, four,
three, two one, go. When I say go, I'll start the watch. Got it?"
Brian nodded. He pulled up to the starting line, put the Bee in first
gear, stepped on the brake, and tached the car up to three grand with
his other foot on the gas. The car hunched up like a puma poised to
leap, and the front breaks groaned with the effort of holding the Bee in
check.
Jim began the countdown, and when he said go, Brian let off the brake
and walked into the gas pedal. The Bee's nose lifted and she bolted
forward, her tires screeching, and Brian was just shocked at the
acceleration as he was pinned to the seat. From about thirty-five
hundred RPMs up until he shifted at sixty-five hundred, the engine
seemed to be throwing them forward down the road. Brian shifted, the
tires screeched again, and the car surged forward even quicker than
before.
Brian was still in second gear when they crossed the yellow finish line
and Jim's hand compressed on the stopwatch. Brian backed off the gas;
the speedometer said one hundred and ten miles per hour. He let the car
slow naturally, then braked when it got down to sixty.
He slowed, turned the car around, stopped on the shoulder of the road.
In the back seat, Jim was laughing. "Shitfire, Brian. You just pulled a
twelve-two with two dudes in the car with you."
Whoa. "Are you sure?"
Jim shrugged. "Hey, I might not have got the watch going or stopped
perfectly, but I guarantee you I'm not off by more than two tenths
either way. This thing is a fucking beast, boy."
Ed clapped him on the shoulder. "Dude, I wouldn't have believed it if I
wasn't here. What a goddamn monster. Jeeze, I can't wait until you run
Colin again."
Jim blinked. "Is that was this about? That run you guys had?"
Brian grinned. "That's what started it, yeah. But now it's just about
having a nice car."
"Well, you got one. " Jim laughed. "Man, I hope I get to see that race
with your boy myself."
Brian nodded. "Can you keep this to yourself, Jim? I don't want Colin to
chicken out beforehand."
"My lips are sealed, buddy."
And they were.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Nifty is a joint endeavor, conceived by, maintained by, and frequented by people of like thinking. It plays an important role in the sharing and preservation of LGBT lifestyles, culture, and dreams. Please support Nifty at every chance you can:
http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
Address story comments/criticism to: Geron Kees at <geronkees@runbox.com>