Unmistakeable Noise

It’s that Unmistakeable Noise, the syncopated beat of “a radical cam,” advanced timing, and less than legally loud mufflers. Pipes, probably.

“It’s small block 350, bored over to 383.” The rest, from the image, should speak for itself.

“It can burn rubber from here to the corner,” the driver said, nodding at a stoplight that’s two-thirds of a mile down the access road.

I was filling the girlfriend’s car with gas, and looking at something on my phone. As the little monster approached, I heard it first, then looked up at a small Chevy Nova.

“It’s a ’63, totally stripped and rebuilt.”

I asked, quite pointedly, about the rear tires, rather wide, looks like, to make hotrods, what we used to do was shorten the rear axle,

“No, it’s got a ‘half-tub’ in it.”

I nodded, not comprehending.

Under the hood, looks like everything had been taken apart, stripped, cleaned and painted – or coated. Super clean.

It’s that unmistakable noise of a demon-possessed, fire-breathing American V–8.

Hot Chevy Nova.

Who said a machine can have no soul, with its Unmistakeable Noise?