I've had some anxious moments lately stemming from an unfortunate incident involving me, my beater '88 Chevy Celebrity wagon, and a minor disagreement with law enforcement officials regarding an apparent lapse in my insurance and registration. Suffice it to say that I'm more or less in the clear so long as I rid myself of this foul thing before August 22. Granted, this ride isn't exactly the love of my life. Come to think of it, this is exactly why I got into cars and fled from women. When times run rough you can pitch the plates on your old tank, swap your insurance, and find yourself a replacement with a sturdier frame, better lines, and a stronger engine.
Women hate that.
I mentioned a few columns ago that work had commenced on my mutant '79 Buick sedan delivery. Work also stalled momentarily when we came to the conclusion that there was no way, barring major sheet metal surgery to the front clip, inner fenderwells and doors, that we could swap the front clip for an '82 Malibu unit. Back to square uno. My body guy is going to modify the stock nose a bit while I source out a reasonably potent mill. I've got my eye on a high-compression '67 Buick 340 rated at 260 horse.