In 2002, I had an awesome car, a Firemist Green 1995 Cadillac Eldorado. I’ve owned quite a few vehicles before and since then, but none of them have been as nice as that Cadillac. Unfortunately, I sold it a few months after getting married. As a full time student with a child now on the way and mounting expenses, it seemed like getting rid of the monthly payments and high insurance (like I said, I’ve owned quite a few vehicles – some of which suffered untimely demises) was the responsible thing to do. Being the responsible, newly married guy that I was, I took the advice of one of my trusted buddies who said, “I know where there’s a 1966 Fairlane that wouldn’t take a lot to get back on the road, just scuff up a little, shoot some fresh paint and you’ll be ready to ride. you ought to get it.” So, in the middle of the winter, my buddy and I squeezed our pregnant wives into our cars and drove out to the middle of nowhere to look at this prized find. To this day, I’m not sure why I bought it. I’d like to think I bought it because I’m endowed with creative vision and can see the possibilities for beauty in anything, but it’s more likely that I’m just out of my mind. We did manage to get it cranked up and I drove it home…without headlights…or brake lights…or turn signals…or a driver’s side door. So, that’s how I ended up with a 50 year old hunk of rusted steel. At least there was room to park it in my parent’s driveway!

“Scuff it up”, he said. “Just a little surface rust”, he said. Have you ever heard that you shouldn’t purchase a vehicle that you went to look at at night? That’s good advice. Oh, and let me add to that advice – don’t purchase cars that don’t have all of their doors. There was quite a bit more rust than we first thought. Do you know how many hours it takes to completely sand all of the paint off of a car? I do. It’s ten times as many hours as you think it will take. With all the time I spent with her, we got to know each other very well. Maybe I even started to fall in love with her. But all wasn’t well with our relationship. She never came out and said it, but I think she hated me.

She did teach me how to do paint and body work, or rather, how not to. It was a tremendous learning experience that I wouldn’t trade, but that I don’t want to repeat. It was around this time that I decided to ditch the metal hood and order a fiberglass one with a nifty ram air scoop off of a 427 Fairlane. I figured that, if I was going with a fiberglass hood, I may as well get some fiberglass fenders. Turns out, large fiberglass auto body parts don’t ship very well. One of my fenders arrived chipped and cracked. The folks at Crites Restoration made good on it and sent me another. It was actually looking like this project might turn out all right. At least she was starting to look like a real car. Little did I know, there were all kinds of problems lurking beneath the hood.

Even after having been parked for years, she ran when I got her. I was just less than a year into the project. There wasn’t any reason why she shouldn’t run when we dropped the motor back in. After all, we didn’t do anything to the engine except clean it up and put on a fresh coat of paint. I was so excited when we got her fired up and took her for a ride around the block to show off her brand new paint job, but what was that clacking noise. Turns out it was a cracked piston. My project came to a screeching halt. I was already in deeper than I wanted to be. Those car payments didn’t seem so bad anymore. Did I mention that the Fairlane was at my parent’s house in their driveway? That’s because we lived in an apartment, there’s no way they would allow that mess to sit in the parking lot.

Now, you would think the voice of reason (my wife) would step in and call for a time out on this project. Maybe she didn’t care or maybe she just enjoys watching me suffer because she didn’t put a stop to it. She let me head off to the engine builder’s along with my buddy who’s voice still rings in my head…”if you’re going to have the motor built, you may as well do it right!” The meek little 289 was bored and stroked to 331 and outfitted with all of the go fast goodies I could put on the Visa card. After all, “you may as well do it right!” Summit Racing loves me. Again, I was happy as a lark when the motor was finished. You’d think this project was approaching an end, but you’d be wrong, this car hates me. We never could get the engine to run. She’d tease us a little. Roaring to life and then sputtering out. This went on for days as I tried everything I knew and consulted every person, book and website I could find. She never would run right, so she sat in the driveway, abandoned. My wife and I eventually bought a house up the road from my parents and finally pushed the old fairlane up the road and into our garage where she sat neglected for a year or so. I’d go out and tinker with her occasionally. I finally felt sorry for her and made an extra effort to get her running. After some more frustration, my father and one of his mechanic friends took pity on me and tore into the motor to find the problem. The camshaft was destroyed. Everyone else says they can’t figure out why. The builder says that it’s probably my fault – overtightened valves. The cam company says it’s probably the builder’s fault – blocked oil passage. The mechanic says it’s probably the cam company’s fault – a bad cam. There are two that really know what happened. I know. SHE knows. She hates me. Back to the engine builder’s. Remember, if you’re going to do it, do it right! This time, the builder got instructions to shave a little off the deck and port and polish a set of roush racing heads. This was going to be one hot ride. Nevermind that gas prices were just beginning to hit at the outrageous prices we’re paying now. If I had only known, I would have restored a VW. The hiatus from getting the engine running gave me the time to figure out how I was going to stop this sled on those old drum brakes and ragged suspension. It’s only money right? New tires, shocks, springs and bushings all around! The engine’s back on the stand in my garage now. It’s been sitting there for over a year. The voice of reason finally took over and I waited to work on her as time and money allowed. She’s sad, but I hope she’s not angry. Maybe she’ll accept a new transmission as a peace offering. It’s the last piece she needs to tear down the highway for the first time in half a decade. She’ll be better than new when she’s finished. She should be – I think she’s already cost five times what she did when she was new! Check out my flickr photo gallery of this project: