I love tractors.  If I ever hit the lottery I would probably buy land because it would give me a good excuse to go out and buy a ridiculously loaded John Deere.  But, I digress.  Although a ridiculously loaded John Deere is a tractor, my buddy Barry has got a TRACTOR.  His is a 1949 9N Ford, built to work and last forever.  The engineers succeeded in that aspect, because the 9N is still chugging along today.  Granted, it’s not much to look at from an aesthetic standpoint.  It is dented and rusty, but hey, it’s a working tractor!  It’s not supposed to look like a Lamborghini.  

The 1949 9N Fords originally sold for about $585.  Models advertised online today range between $1200 to $1600, depending on the condition.  The 9N’s featured a 20 hp 4 cylinder flathead engine, engineering marvels in their own right.  Parts are getting harder and harder to find for these engines, with most being aftermarket purchased online.

Speaking of aftermarket, Barry’s 9N features a remarkable piece of aftermarket engineering of its own.  The throttle handle broke, so a bungee cord holds the throttle open at one speed… wide open.  The transmission is not synchronized, so shifting gears requires skill and double-clutching.  Or, simply starting off in the gear you need.  The electrical system is 6 volt and a generator.  Yes, you can still buy 6 volt batteries!  Barry inherited the tractor from his father-in-law in 1995 and the rear tires had just been replaced.  At 21 years, they are still strong on the sides and full of tread, so that will give you some idea of the life of tractor tires.  The 9N has aftermarket wheels on the front, due to the fact that after a flat, the lug nuts broke off trying to remove the wheel.  There are some things even WD-40 can’t budge.  There is also a small toolbox on the side of the tractor that may or may not be aftermarket.  It holds the hardware and clips for the attachments, as well as a few tools for hooking and unhooking. 

The tractor is used today for relatively light duty by farming standards, pulling a bush hog for cutting and a harrow for seeding.  The old 9N used to see some highway time as well.  The fuel tank holds 9 gallons, and the flathead requires non-ethanol gasoline.  The gas station a mile or so up the road from Barry’s house used to sell non-ethanol, so Barry would crank the old gal up, grind her into 3rd gear, load up with a plug of tobacco (according to Barry, you can’t drive a tractor without a plug of tobacco), and chug up to the Shell station at 25 mph full throttle to fill up, waving people around when necessary.

But alas, the Shell station does not sell non-ethanol anymore, so the 9N’s road days came to an end.  Barry fills up the portable tanks and adds about 4 gallons at a time.  So fill ‘er up, hook up the old bush hog, turn the key and push the button.  The old flathead rumbles to life, double clutch it into gear, and off to work… Still Cruisin’!  –J. 

My friend David got his ’69 Porsche 912 for his sixteenth birthday.  Our class of ’73 turned sixteen 45 years ago.  Even someone as mathematically challenged as myself can figure that one out.  David has owned his car for 45 years.  Let that sink in for a bit.  45 years.  I’ve known sixteen year old kids who didn’t even own a car 45 minutes.  I got a Meyers Manx dune buggy when I was sixteen and drove it exactly two months.  Hell, I’ve known men going through middle aged crises who bought a Porsche and tore it up within two weeks.  45 years… it’s mind boggling.

David’s Porsche was the first one I had ever really seen outside of magazines.  I remember pulling up next to it in the gym parking lot and gawking over it, mesmerized.  It had things in it you had read about but never seen.  Leather seats.  An AM/FM radio.  A five speed transmission.  Five speeds!  That was two more than I had on the tree of my ’65 Fairlane!  It was a beautiful bright orange, with white graphic panels on the sides.  When Dave cranked it up, it purred like a sewing machine.  It was like no car I had seen before or since, and I fell in love with Porsches on the spot.  

David drove the car pretty much every day through high school, college and beyond.  The fact that he kept it in such good shape at such a young age speaks volumes about his maturity level, something I certainly was not familiar with at that age.  He has had the 912 completely restored, still painted that beautiful bright orange.  It makes regular appearances at our high school reunions, looking clean and pristine.  He owns several other Porsches now as well, but I would hazard an educated guess that the 912 is the one David could never part with.

Such is the bond between man and machine.  Over time they become part of us.  Be it a car, bike, boat or plane, the link becomes inseparable.  A certain vehicle becomes part of our identity, and when we climb into it or straddle it and fire it up, we are filled with a warmth and happiness only we can understand.  The open road, space and time are different in these vehicles, a feeling that really cannot be described.  We spend hours cleaning and polishing, tinkering and tuning, petting and pampering.  We will not think twice about spending whatever it takes to keep our baby humming along, yet balk at going to the doctor ourselves because it’s just too darned expensive.  

David’s car can be seen in the Classic Car Gallery portion of this website, “The Duke”.  I hope I was able to capture some of the beauty of this fine machine.  And, my hat’s off to Dave.  He has managed to hold onto and preserve something that very few, if any of us, have.  45 years… Still Cruisin’!

My ’69 VW Convertible has a new home.  No, he hasn’t been sold or lost in a pink slip drag race.  He has retired, so to speak, to a life of leisure.  If any car deserves it, he does.

I got my little convertible in the summer of 1983.  Being a Bug Guy since I was a kid, it was the realization of a lifelong dream.  I bought him off a buddy for $500 and a canoe.  He was garaged, but he was in rough shape.  Stuff was piled on top of him.  His top was gone, nothing but the frame.  He had more than a few dents and dings on the fenders, and the rear floorboard on the driver’s side was completely rusted through.  I didn’t care.  I was going to restore him.  

Mechanically, he was sound.  I drove him the rest of the summer with the top frame pulled back, hidden by the canvas cover.  At the onset of winter, I began the restoration process.  I had fooled around with cars my whole life, but never done any restoration work.  If you haven’t, let me fill you in.  It’s hard, much more than I had bargained for.  It is time consuming, tedious and expensive.  It took me a year and a half to complete the job.  The end result is well worth all the work, but unless you are highly skilled, it is best to bite the bullet and farm out the finishing work to an expert.

So, in the winter of 1990 I gave him to a friend who owned a body shop.  Frank stripped the car down to the bare metal, primed and painted the car VW beige, put in new undercoated floor pans along with new chrome and trim.  The little guy looked brand new.  Again, I drove him that whole summer with the top down.

Over time, however, things happened.  A friend clipped it and tore up one of the fenders.  Another friend backed into it with his tailgate down and smashed the deck lid.  While having a new top put on it in ’98, the upholsterer dropped a piece of equipment on the hood and smashed it.

The car had always been parked in the garage up until I sold my house in 2013.  The garage at our house in Conyers has been converted into office spaces, so the car sat outside.  That was tough.  Though I tried my best to keep him clean, the elements really began to take a toll.  Every time I walked past him, it would break my heart.  I was on the verge of purchasing one of the portable carports, when a very good friend graciously offered to store the car in his basement.  

My little buddy  is now warm, safe, dry and protected.  Sure, I miss seeing him everyday and being able to jump in and drive him whenever I want.  But, I feel much better knowing he is in a secure place.  And, while he may be living the life of automotive luxury, he is, after all, Still Cruisin’!  –J.            

The older I get, the more cop cars look cool.  Seriously.  I first started noticing this about four or five years ago.  I was sitting at a red light and a Georgia State Patrol car was across from me, a silver Dodge Charger with the orange lettering.  I thought wow, that thing really looks really cool.  Big tires, black wheels, silver hubs, light rack and bumpers, it exuded authority.  The light turned green and it growled past me, ready to jump into action at any given moment.

The modern police cars are true muscle cars.  The days of the clunky Crown Victoria Interceptor are over.  The Dodge Charger Pursuit, shown above, carries a 345 cubic inch, 365 HP V8 Hemi with beefed up suspension, raised rear clearance, heavy duty braking system, and a brush bar up front that resembles a cow catcher.

The Ford Taurus Interceptor features a specially calibrated gearbox, allowing the gears to hold on longer in pursuit mode, and are set to perform a J-turn.  The officer can acclerate hard in reverse, swing the car around and take off in the opposite direction.  The Chevy Caprice PPV is capable of 150+ mph and a 13.8 quarter mile.  In short, these cars are beasts.

I’ve found that most officers are more than eager to talk about their cars.  So, the next time you pull into a Dunkin’ Donuts and see an officer, ask him about what’s under the hood.  It can’t hurt, and maybe he’ll let you slide the next time he sees you make a California Stop at the four way… Keep Cruisin’! –J.

I talked with my old buddy Jimmy last week, with whom I had not spoken with for a long time.  We were roommates back in our early twenties, and how we survived, I’ll never know.  If you opened up our refrigerator at any point in time, pretty much all you would find would be a jar of mayo, a pack of baloney and a case of beer.  We did keep the place clean, so as not to repel girls.  One week, we splurged.  We got HBO installed.

This was in the mid-seventies, when it was called Home Box Office.  All it showed was movies, only three or four a month.  One of the movies that was running at the time was a Burt Reynolds movie entitled “WW and the Dixie Dancekings”.  It seemed to be on every time we turned on the TV, and lines from the movie became part of our group’s vernacular.  Jimmy mentioned the movie when we talked, and said he had been trying to find it on DVD, but with no luck.  I did some digging and discovered that the movie has never been released either to VHS or DVD, and is very rarely, if ever, aired on the networks.

I don’t understand why.  It is one of the best comedies Reynolds ever did, certainly better than some of the pap he was producing in the years following (Cannonball Run II; Stroker Ace).  The film is set in 1957, with Reynolds starring as WW Bright, a Korean vet who travels about the south in his 1955 Black and Gold Two Tone Oldsmobile Golden Anniversary Special, robbing SOS (Southland Oil Systems) gas stations and splitting the profit with the attendant with the agreement that the attendant will describe someone other than WW when they call the police.  He hooks up with The Dance Kings, a country band featuring Jerry Reed, Conny Van Dyke and Don Williams, and takes them to Nashville to try and hit the big time.  Art Carney plays the fundamentally religious lawman hired by the SOS company to capture WW. 

I did manage to find the entire film on YouTube.  It’s in the sidebar to the right.  And Burt, if you happen to read this, please reconsider and release ‘ol WW to the public… he’s got a hurt arm, y’know!  Keep Cruisin’! –J.   

My little buddy Gavin had his first taste of the checkered flag last month when he won the Cub Scouts Atlanta Area Council Yellow River Tiger District Pinewood Derby.  His car is an all black number, sporting white racing stripes and the number 103.  It is a sleek wedge design, making the clunkers we ran when I was a kid look like corncobs on caster wheels.  The kids also compete district wide now, as opposed to when I was nine years old.  Yes, the wheel had been invented by then, and we only competed within the pack.  

The Pinewood Derby is a great way for a kid to build something and get a taste of entering it into organized competition.  The Scout is given a block of wood made of pine, 4 wheels and four nails.  The finished car must use all nine pieces and not weigh more than 150 ounces.  After that, he is on his own with his imagination.  When I was a kid, a guy in my den built his to look like The Munster Koach.

The concept originated in Manhattan Beach, California in the 1950’s.  Pack 280 Cubmaster Don Murphy’s son was too young to compete in the Soap Box Derby races.  So, Murphy came up with the idea of racing miniature wood cars.  They had the same gravity powered concept as the Soap Box Derby cars, but were much smaller, easier to build and more economically feasible.  The idea spread rapidly, and within a year the Boy Scouts had adopted the Derby for use in all Cub Scout Packs.

The track generally has two to six lanes and slopes to the ground.  The race is run in heats, giving every car the chance to run in each lane.  The first place winners from the packs advance to the district competition, and the district winners race against each other across the entire council.

So, congratulations, Gav Man!!  Keep that sleek black racer out in front, slinging rubber and moving dust!  Keep Cruisin’!  –J.

I sold my convertible and bought a soccer van.  Not just any soccer van, mind you.  A silver 2006 Chrysler Town and Country.   Within 24 hours, I saw no less than 10 silver Town and Countrys on the road.  I have seen scores since.  Unless you drive a vintage classic, you don’t really notice how many cars like yours are out there until you purchase one.  

Thus, I have lost my identity.  I forfeited my little drop-top 5 speed GLS Cabrio that girls actually looked at (the car, not me) in favor of practicality.  For a guy with lifelong youth issues when it comes to automobiles, this is traumatic.  

Mind you, it’s not all bad.  It does have a sunroof.  I looked and looked for a convertible model, but finally resigned myself to the fact that Chrysler never built one.  Dodge’s stowaway seats are great.  The  two back seats and the rear bench fold down into holds in the floor, converting the van to a light duty cargo van.  For moving artwork and and show gear, this is awesome.  The seats can then be returned to their original position, making the van dual purpose.

And, I actually enjoy driving it.  Problem is, there is simply no way to look cool doing so.  I asked a friend who once owned a Ford Aerostar for advice.  She told me “Wear dark glasses.  Avoid routes your friends use often.  Night travel is recommended.”  I did take her advice and wear my Ray-Ban pilot glasses when driving, but I don’t think it helps.  I bought dice valve stem caps.  They got a laugh or two, but it’s still like putting lipstick on a pig.

And, while the van may be the most sensible way to make a trip to Florida, it’s just not the same as cramming your stuff into the trunk, back seat and  floorboards, dropping the top and blasting off southbound.  And let’s face it, cruising the strip or the beach in a van is simply not the same as in a convertible.

Such is life.  I have traded sport for sensibility.  So, if you happen to notice me in my Silver Soccer Van, smile and give me a thumbs up… I will return the gesture and Keep Cruisin’!  –J.  

Spring is here (well, almost, anyway…), and that means a new season of car shows, club functions, cruise-ins and rod runs.  Just about any vehicle you can imagine, from cars to bikes to trucks, can be found at these gatherings throughout the spring, summer and fall months.  You’ll also meet some pretty wonderful folks who share your love and enthusiasm for whatever particular vehicle revs your RPMs…

There is a function of some type just about every weekend, and you can check the event schedules at websites such as southeastwheelsevents.com and carshowfinder.org.   Churches, civic groups and charities have found car shows to be a great and fun way to involve communities and to raise funds and awareness.

If your tastes run more to the upper echelon of the motoring class, there is the Amelia Island Concours d’ Elegance going on this weekend, March 10-16 at Amelia Island, Florida.  The Highlands Motoring Festival is happening June 9-12 in Highlands, NC, and the first annual Atlanta Concours d’ Elegance, benefiting St. Judes Children’s Hospital, takes place May 14 in Alpharetta, Ga.  These shows feature some of the finest and most elegant antique automobiles in the world.

The Southland Jubilee,  in Greensboro, Ga. will be Saturday, April 16th.  This event is sponsored by Georgia Classic Cruisers.  Make plans to come out to beautiful East Georgia and spend a beautiful spring day enjoying the company of some great folks and more than 150 classic cars!  I’ll see you there, but in the meantime… Keep Cruisin’!  –J.  

A friend asked me recently if I had ever considered painting a Chevy Corvair.  Ah, the Chevy Corvair, introduced in 1960 to compete in the growing compact market.  Corvair’s flat horizontally opposed rear mounted 6 cylinder engine opened up room for a variety of packages which made the car widely popular. As a kid, my dream car was a candy-apple red Corvair Monza with a black interior.  I wound up with a green ’56 VW…

The Corvairs were a blast to drive.  A friend had a maroon ’69 Monza Spyder that was an absolute beast. With a 150 hp turbocharged engine, this little monster would eat up the roadway like spaghetti. The Corvair also looked cool too, sporting lithe and sleek lines with which the Ford Falcon, Dodge Dart and of course, the VW, simply could not compare.

Then along came Nader.  Chevy execs knew the Corvair was a handful, but refused to spend the few dollars per car to make the swing-axle suspension more manageable.  It was a decision they would come to regret… 

Ralph Nader, a consumer activist who probably drove a Nash Rambler and got beat up a lot as a kid, published a book called “Unsafe at Any Speed” in 1965.  The book outlined safety issues with a number of American cars, and called the Corvair a “one-car accident”.  Citing the car’s propensities for spins and rollovers, it was the death knell for the Corvair, which ceased production in 1969.

Which brings me to my point… isn’t any car unsafe at any speed at any point in time?  Depending on how we are driving at a certain point, isn’t any vehicle a rolling death trap?  If we are flying down the road well over the speed limit and go into a curve way too fast, isn’t that vehicle going to have a propensity to spin or roll?  Unsafe at any speed?  Try driving a ’69 VW 70 mph on an expressway.  Talk about unsafe… you’ll get run over.

So, yes, I will paint a Corvair portrait.  A nod to a great little American car that was ahead of its time and wound up getting the shaft.  Gee thanks, Ralph.  Oh, and Ralph, I see Corvairs at car shows quite often.  They’re Still Cruisin’!  – J. 

Continuing in the racing vein, since today is the Atlanta 500 at AMS, allow me to wax nostalgic.  I grew up racing go-carts against my cousin Herb, in his back yard in Forest Park, Ga.  The sleek machines above resemble ours, his on the left, mine on the right.  Only Herb’s didn’t sport whitewalls, and that’s definitely not me in the one on the right.

Every Sunday we would load up my go-cart in my father’s 1960 Chevrolet Apache pickup and head to Forest Park.  The little house on Alice Street where my aunt and uncle raised five wonderful kids had a huge back yard.  That became our dirt track.  

As pictured above, it was in effect a tri-oval.  The pits and start/finish line were at the top of the yard.  Our fathers were our pit crews, and we actually raced.  They would count a pre-determined amount of laps each heat.  We raced backward, left to right. Out of the pits there was turn one, the straightaway, a slight turn two, the straight into turn three. the back straight, a tight, tight turn four, the straightway along the fence which miraculously, to my recollection, neither one of us ever got into.  Lastly was turn five to the start/finish line.

We would race all afternoon and my thanks go out to the neighbors because to my knowledge, they never complained.  In the summer the pit crews would water down the track while we were running.  If my car happened to sling the chain on the backstretch, as it was wont to do, I would jump out, roll it back on, jump back in, buckle up, adjust my goggles and take off, hell bent on catching and passing my cousin.  Yes, we had lap belts and goggles.  No helmets.  I wanted one, but they cost too much.  Somehow, no one ever got hurt.

One of my cousins got on the mini-bike and went around and around the track until she ran out of gas because she couldn’t figure out how to stop.  The track wasn’t big enough for another cousin, Sheryl, who inherited the go-cart after Herb and would take it to the streets, only to be chased home by the Forest Park Police.

These are some of the fondest memories of my childhood.  And today, anytime I climb into one of the fancy five dollar a lap racing karts, I am taken back to the old dirt oval at 761 Alice Street.  In my mind, no track anywhere, from Daytona to Dixie, could ever compare.  Keep cruisin’! –J.