MMMM: Memorable Moments in Madison Motorsports

[ScottyB]

more random memories:

- its like 1 AM at one of b00bies' parties, maybe 2004. we're all stumbling drunk. i found a bottle opener made out of a deer's hoof/foot, up to about the first joint, kind of like a rabbit's foot. maybe 7 inches long. i proceed to fasten it in my pants zipper so the hoof is hanging out of my pants like a dick. Rex and Julie are sitting on a couch, their heads about level with my crotch. i proceed to go over and start twerking my junk in Rex's face with my hoof dick. Rex spews his beer everywhere. everybody liked my hoof dick.

- b00bies taking his base model stripper model del sol to the track and just flogging it without mercy. on the way there one time someone pulled out in front, too close, and he pretty much flatspotted all 4 tires in a massive no-ABS slide. on that day the phrase "Lock dem shits up, yo" was born.


- me taking 3 days to change a shock on my accord. i had no idea what i was doing and it got so bad random people were asking if i was OK. i couldn't get a spring compressor to compress the spring enough to get the shock out, which had fallen down inside the spring because i'm retarded and took the center nut out instead of the 3 tophat nuts. Dave Allen and Jayray literally saved me from dying in the parking lot from exposure because i would have stayed out there for a week. Jay disposed of the shock properly (i wonder if its still in that field next to Chase Ct.)



- RJ lived with me in our sunchase apt. for a semester. in that time he:
• dissasembled an integra engine on our dining room table and left the head sitting in a vat of simple green for 3 days, the smell never went away
• turned one corner of the living room into a giant pile of integra interior panels
• stacked his R comps in the entry foyer and the tires deposited a giant black rubber donut stain on the linoleum floor that couldn't be cleaned by anything and were there 2 years later when we graduated and moved out
• sprayed his valve cover with aircraft industry paint stripper and then we took the valve cover out into the parking lot and lit it on fire to get the residue off. flames were at least 4 feet high and smelled like a Chinese industrial park

- we were the pioneers of the official Pimp Through Campus style back when you could drive all the way through main campus from ISAT to main street. always go WOT over the ISAT bridge...for the ladies.

- getting a ride in Dave Allen's freshly completed 1JZ swapped mk3 supra. twin turbos spooling up out of a gutter sized dump pipe in glorious symphony. never got over that.

- the MM beer pong table. one of the works i am most proud of. wonder where it is? i still have the ferrari flag.


- Sean Schutte jumping his motorcycle off of someone's porch while drunk, crashing upon landing after dropping about 5 vertical feet, becoming a legend

- RJ tracking his plastic saturn SC2 (lunchbox!!). parking it on top of the T3 tire wall at slummit.

- reddish knob.


- Maeng's PHENOMENAL air time and spin at T5 at road atlanta in the integra. he needs to post that video from the NSX that was behind him.

- Blair's insane cars and his becoming the official VW Jesus. every one of his cars was found in someone's shed for like $20, in perfect condition, and he managed to complete them to utter badass levels in like 2 months. pristine AE86, an SR20 240sx notch, an original 5 speed GS300 with a 1JZ single, etc etc. none of us understands how it works.

- Rex's bizarre cars (240, GSX, 325e, geo metro, SVX, supra...i literally never knew what he was driving at any one time) and amazing ability to at one point collect 9 tickets in a single day on rt.11

- the legend of the MM Wing Off and Evan's royalty for being known as Supreme King Wing and later as Glorious Leader of The Great Hate

- The Great Hate of 20(10?) and the healing process afterwards in which the alumni and students made peace...for now

- the infamous half naked Bro (BDSM) picture that i'm still confused about

- Jeff's turbo minivan, shelby mopar stuff, and that weird Maserati rebranded Chrysler thing. aside from the charger i'm not sure he ever finished any of those projects. they were all different levels of rare/weird/onlyJeffwouldunderstand

- Channing. red bull. canes.

- b00bies challenging Kaan to a drunk wrestling match at a hotel when we were at VIR one night. b00bies getting destroyed. Kaan literally didn't even have to move his feet. none of us helped b00bies.

- Rex's tale of getting an engine for his XJ. another classic for the ages

So, the smoke is still inside my XJ, so those injectors must be fine. Everything is cool in ReXJ land, I'm just lazy.

So, funny story. Before Sean Schutte decided to steal my fucking thunder and go balls deep into a 4.7L stroker project, I'd had an ad in the valley trader for a couple of weeks:

WANTED: AMC 4.2/258 Crank&Rods or Full Engine.

I mean, that engine was in fucking everything. CJ Jeep? 258. AMC Matador? 258. International Harvester Scout? Fuckin 258. 4.2 when metric shit became en vogue. I figure someone has one of these lying around somewhere in this Valley, collecting rust, and I'm going to save it from the scrapper. Or at least, you know, some of it. The crank, and probably the rods.

Anyway, I get a few calls. Mostly from people who are idiots, and want like 400 dollars for their engine that ran when it was pulled 2 decades ago, to make room for whatever big block chevy they thought was a good idea. Or the guy who called me and said he had one "Ran good, but had a knock at the bottom end." Dude, how did you even read far enough to get my number? Did you miss the bit how I wanted the crank and rods? I'm not building a mailbox, dude. I'm building an engine.

So I get a call from a reasonably sane person: "Hey man I saw your ad. I have a 4.2 out of a 1990 wrangler that I blew the transfer case up on and decided to just put a whole chevy powertrain in to replace it. You can have it for 150 bucks. Hell, come get it and you can have it for a hunnert." I said "Well met, good sir! I'll come calling on friday morning to retrieve your locomotion unit, and pay you the agreed-upon price. I assume that federal reserve notes will suffice, as I am afraid that specie has fallen out of favor for large transactions. Ha-HAW! Good show!"

So I call my dad, ask him if he's up for an adventure. We hook up the trailer (figure it'll be easier to load an engine onto a trailer than the high dump bed in the truck) and head off over the mountain, to the land of my mother's people: Culpeper/Madison County. This isn't the Madison County with the pretty bridges. Oh no, that's in Iowa. This is the Madison County famous for...er...um...oh wait! James Madison! And also...um...not a damn thing else. So we get on [Redacted] Road and start looking for this place. After a few misadventures, we figure out that [Redacted] road changes to WEST [Redacted] Road when you enter Madison County from Culpeper County. Thank God my Dad was a truck driver in another life, I've never seen anybody able to u-turn in a trailer like this man. Anyway, we think we have the right place, so we flag down a guy who's pulling out of it.

Me: "Yeah, I'm looking for Aaron, I am supposed to buy an engine from him. Am I in the right place?"
Driver: *spits* "I reckon you are, but I ain't seen hide nor hair of the boy. He might be inna house, though." *spits*
Me: "Thank you, sir!"

So we approach the...house. I was about to say "hovel" but it's an old farm house, so we'll go with house. Probably has been there since some old reb got his leg shot off in the War of Northern Aggression and him an' his kin decided that this piece of property had a nice lay to it, and reckoned they ought to help build him a place to call his own, on account of his leg 'n' all.

There was the prerequisite bigass mean dog barking her fucking head off, there were squat little horses frolicking behind some old fence. A half dozen pot bellied pigs wandered around the yard. Some foraging for grubs or scraps or whatever the fuck pigs forage for, some were lazing about in the winter sun. The big ole momma sow (big for a potbelly, anyway) was trying to scratch her back, her giant teats swaying like oaks in the breeze with every stroke. The yard was filled with various equipment. A full size dodge van, a kubota tractor. An old Massey Furgeson hay rake, and (a sign I was in the right place) a Wrangler hard top.

I got out of the truck, looking left and right. Speaking softly to the baying dog, thinking out my best course of action, and taking comfort in the weight and warmth of the polymer and steel riding on my hip. Smith and Wesson might prove useful allies today, if Atropos willed it. I knock on the door, through the screen-less screen door and the grandson of the ole Reb came to it. I apologized for rousing him from however he had decided to spend the august of his life, and told him I was looking for Aaron. He replied that he hadn't seen hide nor hair of the boy, and didn't know anything about any engine, neither.

Shitballs. Here I am in Bumfuq, VA. I've driven an hour and a half to get here, and this dipshit is passed out drunk in a pickup bed next to some Madison County High School Cheerleader, or dead in a ditch, or forgot I was coming and is up in a treestand on the side of some god-forsaken hill.

PSYCH! He's right behind his grandpa, putting on a shirt as the old man explains to me that he doesn't know when Aaron will be back...and he literally continues talking as he turns around and heads back in the house. Talking to me? The 12 little pigs? The second big-ass pittmutt to greet me with thunderous throat and slavering jowels? Prophesying the end of the world at the slimy tentacles of Cthulhu? Fucking pick one.

SO good, Aaron is here after all! He trots out in his bare feet, mud squishing up between his toes, to inform me that the gentleman I spoke to earlier would have to return so we could "fire up the cat" and "get the engine down." Down? Is it in a tree? "Oh no," he laughs. "Don't be silly. It's up on top of that box truck." Behind the barn is a broken down U-Haul truck, with the body of a wrangler perched precariously atop its metal roof.

Dear God. This is all some complex plan for the Lothar of the Hill People over here to eat my father and make me into Queen Pretty for the rest of his tribe to have their way with. Well not today, Bubba! I got 17 rounds...that's 15 for you and the best you can bring, and 2 left over for myself and my father. Your sick cult can feast on our flesh, but our brains will be scattered around the yard for the pigs, you hear me?!

I'm being dramatic, but only just. He showed me where the night before some poachers had opened fire on his pickup when he went to investigate some strange lights on the hill. Punched a fist sized hole in the bed with 00 buck, (by my estimation) been all that far away. I asked him if he'd called the law, and he reached into his cab to retrieve his ruger blackhawk. "Hell naw, I returned fire!" Jesus wept.

Mr. Spitter returned to fire up the fucking bulldozer, stopping only briefly to blind Dennis Nedry. The diesel engine roared to life, and the tracks began grinding their clacking, sinister path across the Rhine, over to the box truck. Spitter lifted the bucket impossibly high, and then Our Aaron clambered up the earth mover like a freakishly large spider monkey, (keep in mind, in his bare, muddy, hobbit feet) motioning me to follow. As a Jeep Inline Six isn't exactly a paperweight, I had no choice but to discard my jacket and join him on his perch, though I chose what seemed to me a less dangerous route up. We shoved the engine into the bucket and proceeded to dump it onto the floor of the trailer with no incident.

I handed the man his money and practically leaped towards the cab of the truck. "Hey man, if you need any chevy parts you just let me know! I got plenty!" Dad moved as fast as his artificial knee could carry him into the truck, having not said a word this entire time. We fired that mother up and headed back across the mountain.

Moral of the story: When you buy shit from the Redneck Craigslist, ask them to meet you with it somewhere.