It’s pretty hard to pinpoint when I was actually bitten by the car bug but I have always been fascinated with cars, trucks, planes and pretty much anything that uses gasoline or some sort of fossil fuel derivative. My earliest memories are of a family trip to British Columbia and going with my dad to search for a replacement for his 1961 fuelie Corvette. After finding one that one in decent shape and running, albeit without the famed Rochester mechanical fuel injection and cable drive tachometer, it was slowly but surely transformed into my fathers representation of days gone by.

My brother, who appreciates classic muscle as I do, purchased a 1971 Nova as his first car. It was gold with a white and black interior, column shifted TH350 and a nice healthy small block Chevy. Not much in the way of aftermarket goodies, well none to be specific but that soon changed with the addition of headers, aluminum intake and a few small bits. He drove that car year round all over hells half acre, to the cottages of Interlake Manitoba and the bald prairies until completing his university education and bidding farewell to this province. He left the car behind and I tried to come up with the cash but being a young and foolish individual I was not much of a saver. It sold for mere peanuts compared to today’s market for clean restorable shells and I have honestly regretted not being able to keep it in the family.

Now and then my father has regaled me with tales of his old cars; the Corvette, a big block Chevelle, Impala SS and more. He always commented that I was born 30 years too late, his era was the epitome of Detroit muscle and I wished that I could have been there to see some of my favorite cars on the showroom floor. As I got into high school, muscle cars showed up the parking lot more and more. I admired the guys who drove them but again, too much $ for me.

My first true muscle car was a clapped out, half primered 1965 Malibu. Complete with 70’s swivel buckets and a ratchet shifter that failed to work eighty percent of the time, it was my pride and joy. Although living in the suburbs and having an atrocity like that in my parents driveway turned the stomach of some neighbors, I didn’t care. I finally had my car and I was going to build it my way. Or so I thought when the call came for me to attend post secondary school, the car, the spare parts and the brand new interior was sold to pay my tuition. Back to the drawing board once again.

Education, career, house and now I am back again on the hunt for a project 12 years later. I was looking at building an advanced design series GM truck, when I popped out for a coffee with friends on a cold Sunday evening in April 2011. A friend had mentioned that he had gone earlier in the day and bought a 1973 Nova for parts. The car had been sitting under a tarp in the dregs of an old suburb, not being touched for years. In fact, upon inspection of said vehicle the last legal owner had left his registration in the glove box from 1982. Beneath the piles of junk and parts lay a steel ball with attached to a chrome shaft and a third pedal on the floor. The evidence of the manual transmission sealed the deal and the car was pulled out from the mud and taken across the city.

The next day I went to take a peek at this gem without the intention of purchasing. Just a friendly look at a piece of history, potentially a farewell to one of the last compact muscle cars to leave the great lakes area before the oil crisis and emissions standards of the mid 1970’s strangled a hobby for the next two decades. Armed with flashlight and still in my work gear, I kneeled down on an old piece of plastic to view the underside of this faded pumpkin orange gem. Expecting to see a mass of corrosion and Swiss cheese floors I instead saw a coat of brown scale and what appeared to be somewhat solid sheet metal with a few exceptions where it had been repaired many years ago. Rockers, door jambs, sub frame, trunk floor and extensions, the body had seen a few battles but could be salvaged.

The rubber floor, windshield, dash pad, parcel shelf trim, headliner and all door/trunk seals were finished. It had manual steering, manual brakes, manual transmission, no options other than the long missing 307cid V8 but still present 3 speed Saginaw. This was the bare bones base model car that I had been looking for years ago but in a slightly newer skin. Knowing that it would be a testament to my patience and my wallet building a clean street/strip car in my single car garage, the negotiations began. Being a fellow Nova owner, the vendor was quick to inform me that every time his phone rang in my ½ hour long visit was another person looking to buy this diamond in the rough. I didn’t have the cash but “you only live once” was stirring around in my now racing mind. At the age of 34, being single I had no dependants other that my gas guzzling 4x4 and a 14 pound breathing pillow most people know as a cat. In true Winnipegger fashion the negotiations were fast and to the point but we hammered out a fair price with concessions for future parts purchases. The issue that held me up was the lack of any documentation; a small conflict ensued between the government insurance agency and me. I won and now, after almost 25 years of want, am going to build a car my way; by me, for me.

Thanks for stopping by and reading my story. Stop by every once in a while and I will try to keep this updated with the latest work. If you have any questions or comment feel free to contact me at the email link on the main page.