The New Flag Ship

It’s been two years since I made the deal with our friend Gaffo Jones from Vashon Island to trade a 1965 Dodge Coronet wagon that we had for a 1964 330 wagon that he picked up. The ’64 Dodge is one of my all time favorite platforms from Mopar in the early ‘60s. They were the cars that were remembered best as the all too familiar candy striped “Ramchargers” as well as countless other famous drag cars like the “Hemi Wagon” and the “Color Me Gone” cars. Because of traction issues in the early days of racing, the wagon had an advantage due to the extra weight over the rear wheels. Unfortunately it also added overall weight and only came in a four door model. We love wagons for any number of ridiculous reasons so Gaffo agreed to hook a brother up with this baby.

Importing and exporting vehicles sucks, so if you have to do it then do your home work and contact the border you plan on crossing directly. I had a paper trail a mile long for both sides so my crossings went smooth. We ventured out on a Thursday morning with the basic plan of pushing the old car off, loading the new (even older) car on the trailer, having drinks and catching up with our old Vashon buddies then maybe watching them race at the Halloween drags on Sunday for the season closer. What we plan and what really happens rarely coincide with each other. The ’64 had been sitting in a field for over three years that we know of. There was at one time a mouse infestation that would rival the rats of Nimh. There were no brakes and the previous owner threw every tune up trick that they knew at the motor with no success in making it run. We flushed and bled all the brake lines to make them work; made sure the motor wasn’t ceased, it wasn’t. The fuel line was split at the pump which meant the tank was empty and not full of sludge so we replaced the hose and filled the tank with gas and of course a new filter. Next was a new set of points and condenser then guess what, it fired right up and idled like a big grumpy kitten. The next task at hand was to clean or rather gut the interior which meant no stone goes unturned. Due to the former rodent army we had to take absolutely everything out and that meant seats, headliner and what used to be a floor. Gabe laid some tin on the driver’s side and the rest got pizza boxes and carpet. Now that we were down to our race weight we needed to address the exterior which got a good hot bath, and then since Gaffo has the use of a vinyl cutter we lettered it up like a super stocker from back in the day. A set of Cragars set of the wheel department and voila, you have an instant (looking) race car. Next we had to do some test runs, so we burned around the streets a bit lighting the tires and doing some test launches. It looked and drove like a real car so we figured since we’re going to Pacific Raceway with a car on a trailer that runs we should probably race it. With its stock two barrel, 2.76 sure grip rear end (how stoked am I) and no oil change the E.T. guesses went from 17.5 to 19 respectively. The field was huge so we didn’t run until 11:00 a.m. or so. We planned on vice gripping the rear brake lines for a poor man’s line lock but with the gutted interior and a water box I just rocked the old fashioned brake stand until I could see smoke in my side view mirror. The launch was soggy to say the least and seemed to take forever to start making revs but eventually it happened so I punched 2 on the keyboard with what I thought felt like 4500 then right before the traps hammered the final button. Slowing down was interesting to say the least, sort of like a Dash-8 landing with skate board wheels. But alas the old girl ran a 16.42 @ 83 mph. Way better than any of us could have hoped for. I got knocked out in the first round of eliminations with a big ‘ol red light. So with a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration we loaded on the trailer and began our long trip home. I will be doing an ongoing update with this car beginning with the power train and moving back from there. None of this would have been possible without the generosity of Gaffo, Dr. Big Block and all of their eclectic entourage. Not to mention Gabe and Chris who always aid in spoiling my liver and splitting my sides.

Polara Pat