MAGAZINE

"They did the boogie real slow.......
with the blue lights way down low........." Taj

It's hard to be humble. Yeah. Not personally - the hat is still in hand - but book-wise, having been involved with Hop Up 2000 has been pretty fulfilling. It's quite a rag if we do say so our Hop Up Selves.

How could you not feel cool when, by default, you 'inherit' the noblest title in the rod world; you work in the Hop Up Towers in River City, Center of the Rod and Custom Universe, you can position yourself around real rod guys, Hop Up Guys, who curry no press, collect no celebrities (some of them are), and practice the imperfect science of rodding and customizing, in a hedonistic cake-walk through rusty parts and moldy concepts that have intrigued car guys for 75 years? Thank ya, Baby.....

We spent an unnatural amount of time on the word-processor in recent months - and that left projects more undone than usual; the things we dig talking about usually come from driving the iron, working on it, working at it, or quietly reflecting on it over books or in deep conversation with other Believers. So for inspiration, you need to do the deed, not write about the deed. Something has to be put in before it can be put out. Don't tell Coco, but we've been sneakin' out to the barn and toe-nailin' some projects. Yup. When we shoulda been doin' homework. Shoulda been doing something responsible, but instead stole time to snatch a couple of 97's off the Hop Up Cragar, take the radiator to be fixed, and dream in the daytime about the flat-tow to the hill climb. About the time you're reading this, we'll be killin' that hill....prob'ly............maybe............we hope!

The nights are gettin' cooler already - that means the propane heaters need to be topped off so the barn can accomodate some fixin', wrenchin', plumbin', demolition, boltin' and........yup.......... Bullshittin'. And in between, we are bent on making a new suede driver happen so we can pay those visits we owe to Hop Up Guys around the U.S.of A. And wander. Like on a 76 M.P.H. boogie down a gently twistin' two-lane state hiway in.....oh, it could be Colorado............Kansas?..............how 'bout Pennsylvania? What's that 283 turning at 76? Rear gear is a 3:54, tires are 29 inches tall......where's that Dream Wheel?......2800? That lazy little orange piece o' poop! Hook it up to 85 for a minute....that'll make 'im sing a different tune..... the view out that chopped front-light frames a slotted panoramic of the countryside and Whoa, Daddy! That's a Model A roadster pickup with a flatbed on it for sale back there! Grab second, stomp on those Lincoln binders, get to the shoulder and......how in the hell would I get it home? I don't care. That's my favorite car in the whole world. It must be The Lord speaking to me, ".........it should be yours.......... It is written.........thou shalt have every stinkin' car your spoiled heart fancies.........."

Good thing it's all in my head, Boys. Good thing it's all in my head.

Hop Up Honor. Stay Honor.