Maverick Lúcifer - amarelando - parte 7
a parte de lataria e pintura está praticamente pronta; ainda falta uma
série de coisas, mas devagarzinho a coisa vai tomando forma; já são
quase 2 anos desde a compra do Maverick.h
Maverick a 180 km/h de 3a.
Uma pequena mostra do que um carro de 30 anos, com um motor V8 preparado
faz...a quarta marcha ainda é um mistério.
Musica do final é Moby - Flower (
NOTA: Eu tento, na medida do possivel respeitar as pessoas e os respectivos
gostos, antes de comentar tente fazer o mesmo. Mas se mesmo assim você
achar que o teu é maior ou melhor, e que o meu post é ruim, coloca um
melhor. Pois para quem tiver tempo de ler os comentarios verá que tem
muito invejoso ai que não tem onde cair morto e fica falando merda e não
consegue provar nada.
Abraços a todos apreciadores de carros.
Heres a vid i made of sum wheelies that are pretty sick..its my first vid
so its prolly bad
525 Blown 8-71 EFI Big Block Chevy
This was commissioned by myself to custom build this big block racing
engine for my ProStreet Camaro. This engine is 525 CID
with a BDS 8-71 Super Charger that has Electronic Fuel Injection. horsepower is close to
1000 with only 8 Lbs of blower Boost
(1:1 ratio) and 93 Octane pump gas (Sunoco). On cooler days this will
easily push over 1000 HP. A change of the pulleys will Boost the HP to over 1,700. A few more mods
could push to over 2k.
Dodge Charger 1968 blown hemi
this is Nick suckow's car in September 2008 before it was stolen. If you
have any information about this dodge charger please let me know.
http://www.weau.com/home/headlines/33732019.html# Back in 1984,
high-schooler Nick Suckow bought himself a '68 Dodge Charger. He was gonna
fix it up and roar down the road. Nick was born a gearhead. A hot rod. From
the first time he drove, he drove hard. The redline was always at hand.
When he joined the Army out of high school and shipped to Germany he got
hooked on the autobahn, where you could ease over to the left lane, stomp
the foot-feed flat, and shoot, they just let you go. "Fast," Nick likes to
say, "isn't the same as reckless." All that racing around, and then life
served up a grim little joke: The day Nick Suckow wrecked - the day his
life changed forever, the last day he ever stood on his own two feet - he
was going 35 miles per hour with his seatbelt on. He'd been married two
weeks. He and his wife were on their way home from their Wisconsin
honeymoon, making the run back to Texas in Nick's Gran Prix. They were
towing a rusted-out Ford Bronco - Nick always had his eye out for a cheap
beater, and he had found one up north. On a rough stretch of road Nick
crawled in the Bronco to keep it straight. The front tire hooked a pothole.
The tie rod snapped. The seat belt broke. He landed in the ditch. The
Bronco landed on his neck. Nick says he remembers the sun in his eyes. Then
the darkness closing in. A lot of years, then. Hospitals. Home. Hospitals.
The marriage ended. Back to Wisconsin. Rehab, and more hospitals. The speed
demon, not going anywhere fast. But eventually he had them drag that
Charger out. Arranged to get it in the shop. Whenever he had a little
money, he'd get some work done. "They whittled away at it," he says. "I
told my mom, if I die, dump my ashes in the fuel tank, and I'll go down the
drag strip one last time." Seventeen years. Seventeen years of learning how
to live from the neck up. Seventeen years of whittling. Hed show you the
latest pictures - a quarter panel here, a shot of primer there, a couple
tires. He'd get down to the shop, supervise in person when he could. He
couldn't run the wrenches, but he could run the show. He'd sneak out for a
little speed fix sometimes - once a paraplegic friend strapped Nick's chair
to a motorcycle sidecar and they blew down the road, one good pair of arms
between'em. Nick says it was good to feel the wind on his face. On a sunny
day in October of 2006, Nick Suckow's pals helped him slide from one set of
wheels into another. They strapped him in the passenger side, and you could
see the anticipation on his face, even behind the mirrored shades. The car
cruised out of the lot, and then picked up speed, the blower making a Mad
Max whine as the wheels warmed to the road. After a nice easy ride, the
Charger pulled to a stop on an isolated little stretch of blacktop. There
was a quiet moment, before the driver wound that 426 fuel-injected blown
Hemi up tight. Then Nick Suckow gave the nod and went fishtailing down the
blacktop on a journey that had never really ended.