![a car parked in a parking lot: When I walk up on something like this 1960 Impala, I say to myself, “Wouldn’t it be great if it was a 348 car with a four-speed?” Then I gather clues until the truth is revealed. More often than not, they turn out to be six bangers or two-barrel small-blocks with Powerglides. But you gotta keep hunting and don’t get jaded or you miss the good ones. That’s what happened here.]({"default":{"load":"default","w":"80","h":"53","src":"//img-s-msn-com.akamaized.net/tenant/amp/entityid/AAHa36J.img?h=959&w=1438&m=6&q=60&o=f&l=f&x=1006&y=721"},"dpi":1.8,"size3column":{"load":"default","w":"62","h":"42","src":"//img-s-msn-com.akamaized.net/tenant/amp/entityid/AAHa36J.img?h=751&w=1123&m=6&q=60&o=f&l=f&x=1006&y=721"},"size2column":{"load":"default","w":"62","h":"42","src":"//img-s-msn-com.akamaized.net/tenant/amp/entityid/AAHa36J.img?h=751&w=1123&m=6&q=60&o=f&l=f&x=1006&y=721"}})
I grew up around a bone yard for cars. My Dad sold parts for years. We rode the rollback as young kids. Picked up many a wreck. People would show up with tools in hand. Pull their parts, pay us, and leave. I crashed my 1970 Ford Mav. in the late 80's. Smashed it all to Hell. My Dad sold the motor and trans the next week. Helped me with money to find another ride. The good old days. Now it's all online, big warehouses full of parts, and no more hands on. Just call and it's delivered. I miss the smell of an old car. The grease. The tools. The yelling at times. All that.
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