Bristol Fun Days Car Show 2018

(iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)

“You brought yer dog?” exclaimed my good friend *** ******. He was showing his ‘62 Impala hardtop at 2018’s Bristol Fun Days Car Show.
Car-guys are invited to show their cars. Anything and everything. All can attend.


This thing started as a 1988 Celebrity stationwagon. (iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)

My dog is extremely social. I keep him on-leash, so I can pull back if needed. I can tell when to avoid, or let people greet the dog.
As I’ve aged my interest in cars waned. My goal now is to let the dog socialize.
Some chain-smoker fired up his mega-motor Chevette dragster. Rumpita-rumpita-rumpita-rumpita! Giant drag-slicks filled the car’s entire back end. Put yer foot in it, and hang on for dear life!
He shut off and silence returned. Just idling probably consumed five gallons of racing-gas.
“That ‘Vette is a ‘62,” I said to ***. “No food,” I immediately said to my dog, who was after ***‘s chicken-barbecue. So much for talking to ***; I figgered I better skedaddle.
We wandered around, my dog enthusiastically greeting people after fervent barking.
“Oh what a pretty dog! What’s her name?”
“Actually it’s a he.”
“What breed?”
“Irish-Setter,” I’d say. “Rescue too. Craziest monster I ever owned.”
“He sure is friendly.”
“Yeah, ‘I’ll take whatever I can get; PET ME!’”
But not everyone wants to be lavishly kissed.
The British sportscar contingent was there. A couple dolled-up Triumphs, plus two MGs. I had two Triumphs myself: first a TR-3, then a TR-250, which was a 4A with a six-cylinder motor.


A TR-4A, a TR-6, and a TR-3. (The 4A is British-Racing-Green.) (iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)

TR-4As were independent rear suspension. TR-4s weren’t.
My 250 was one of the worst cars I ever owned, and I flipped the 3 in college with my wife-to-be. The 3s were known as coffins, but I’m still here.
Notable was a rusty old sedan from around 1930.


Moons? (iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)

No idea what it was, but it wasn’t Ford. It had spun-aluminum full Moon hubcaps on its spoked wheels. —As if they might improve the aerodynamics of a box.
Some of the usual attendees were there, a bone-stock ‘49 or early ‘50s Pontiac sedan-delivery, maroon-and-ivory two-tone; a silver ‘37 Chevy sedan-delivery with SmallBlock power; and a dark blue ‘32 Ford Vicky — all-metal too, the real thing.
“What do I see here?” I asked a guy in a ‘30 Ford Model-A roadster. The hood was off. “Looks like an actual Ford four-banger flat-head.
I also noticed disc-brakes at the ends of yer front beam-axle.”
“Those are Ford too. 1995 F150.”
“So it will actually stop,” I said.
“Yep. The cable-brakes were awful.”
“So yer probably hydraulic,” I said.
As I entered a T-bone hotrod drove in, it’s Chevy SmallBlock crate-motor rumbling at idle.


“T-bone.” (iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)

A lady held my dog so I could photograph the car. What do you say when the Sheriff pulls you over? Maybe they wanna check out yer car.
What if it rains?

• Once at the Messenger newspaper the girl in the cubicle next to mine sneezed. She happened to do so the exact moment I was Googling an image of a Ford Model-T hotrod. Model-T hotrods were known as “T-bones.” I said “T-bone” as she sneezed, and utterly whacked that she and I were, every time someone sneezed we’d say “T-bone.”