Friday, August 10
I got to the show bright and early and prepared like I was going to hike through the Sahara. With camera and water bottle in hand, I struck out across the sea of cars. The first thing I noticed was the sheer quantity of cars. Had any one of these cars been at a regional car show, they would have been mobbed. But here, where I saw an entire row of flawless Chargers sitting across from another entire row of Challengers, it was easy to become numb to the perfection.
One row was nothing but Dakotas with Super Bee stripes while another row of Little Red Wagons gleamed across the way. There was even a section for front-wheel drive cars. An Avenger with a fogger nitrous kit, a turbocharged Neon, and several Daytonas made up the “wrong-wheel drive” group.
I finally lifted my gaze above hood level to see a cloud of smoke billowing over the dragstrip, signaling the burnout competition had begun. I ran over just in time to see a rather beat work truck pull up to the line. The truck refused to turn over the tires, so the driver decided a redline neutral-drop was in order. The entire truck squatted, then shuddered as the rear tires broke loose. The whole thing looked like it was about to explode (I backed up a little just in case it did).
Next up was another truck which burned the tires until they blew. The crowd went nuts. One car I didn’t expect to see was an early ‘80s Diplomat. The ex-police car pulled up to the line and soon disappeared in a cloud of smoke. I snapped a few more pictures and headed over to the concours judging for a breath of fresh air.
The level of detail that goes into a concours restoration is mindboggling. The judges left no stone unturned in their search for perfection, including a portable lift for inspecting the undercarriage. This is a serious game. There were a few Furies and Polaras, along with a handful of Chargers. One car that stood apart was a Rambler SC, also known as a Hurst Scrambler. I soon headed towards the swap meet in search of a deal. I never knew you could move an entire scrap yard.
One vendor had a stack of fenders the size of a small house, another vendor had a pile of miscellaneous chrome trim pieces for sale. If you needed it and it was Mopar, it was here. I saw more than one riding lawnmower with a sign that read “will haul parts for $” on the back. I finally found my way back to the Year One tent and hitched a ride back to the hotel.