MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE
— BOOSTED BOOZE CRUISER
Now, anyone in the car world knows that nothing bad ever happens when you get a bunch of bored blokes sitting around in a shed, drinking whisky, and talking shit — right? That was the exact scenario Bevan Parker found himself in a few years ago. Sitting in his shed was a bagged 1938 Ford that he wasn’t really looking at selling. However, after a couple or three glasses of Dutch courage, and some enthusiastic mates agreeing with the ridiculous idea that was flowing from his mouth, he placed an ad on a Facebook hot rod marketplace group advertising the ’38 for sale. “No one will be interested; it’ll never sell; I don’t really want to sell it anyway …” Before the group could pour another round of stupidity, Bevan had a message from an old bloke in their Good Bastards Hot Rod Club, offering up his blown 1966 Impala in exchange. Now, Bevan is a car salesman and is usually on the other end of the sales pitch. In reality, though, the deal the dude offered was killer and was really too good to turn down. The Impala had been imported from the US in 1989, and Bevan had known the car for the previous five years or so. Although he’d never seen himself as being an Impala owner, he knew the history, and “it was a solid old bus”. In a perfect world, he would‘ve liked to import something himself, but he’s heard a hell of a lot of horror stories — haven’t we all? — from people who have done exactly that and regretted it, so decided, in this instance, that it might be better to err on the side of caution. The terms and conditions of the contract were agreed on, and, before the ice had melted in his glass, Bevan was the proud owner of a big, square, supercharged mid-’60s American cruiser — shit, what was he going to tell his partner, Deb? At the time, the car was based down south. With the 2016 Beach Hop just around the corner, the boys hatched a plan to cruise up there together and enjoy the week-long festivities. Meeting in Manawatu the day before to exchange keys seemed the logical thing to do.
Within 30 minutes of Bevan taking possession of the car, the personalization commenced. First on the list was the horrible retro rake that the Impala had — the arse-up, nose-down look wasn’t for the boys, so off came the springs and out came the grinder. A couple of coils were quickly lopped off each corner — a temporary measure, of course, officer, honest! — and the big two-door was down in the weeds where she belonged. The landscaping didn’t stop there, either. The wheelbarrow-handle exhausts were chopped off and chucked away, allowing the Flowmasters to deliver their aural symphony to anyone within shouting distance. In preparation for the six-anda-bit-hour road trip to Whangamata, Bevan had already purchased a set of staggered Rambler wheels out of the US Wheel catalogue. The old feet were removed, and the rubber was peeled off and placed on the more appropriate-looking wheels, whereupon the boys cruised off to Beach Hop and had a ball of a time. Although, the Impala did prove to be a bit of a thirsty wee lass! Once back from its maiden voyage and in the shed, the mechanic in Bevan took over and he began to have a fiddle; he just couldn’t resist — let’s face it, supercharged V8s are hard to ignore. The 350ci crate engine was left reasonably stock. Belt-driven forced-induction guru Mr Alan Shadwick — aka Als Blower Drives — was responsible for the blower cam and valvetrain, while Mr Parker was responsible for changing the pulleys to spin the little 4-71 supercharger as fast as humanly possible to try to extract all the boost available. The by-product of this increased circular motion, along with a halfinch-profile black blower belt, is a glorious blower whine each time the key is jammed in the ignition.
“THIS AIN’T NO TRAILER QUEEN; SHE’S BEEN BUILT TO BE DRIVEN”
The spark has been upgraded to MSD 6AL specs to help light the fuel–air mix delivered via the 750cfm double-pumper carb. The tune is best described as ‘moderate’, to make the car a nice cruiser without breaking the bank in the process — let’s hope that Deb hasn’t seen the fuel receipts from Beach Hop then, eh Bevan?! The ‘Makita one-way adjustable springs’ are a distant memory; custom coils front and rear, along with two-inch drop spindles up front, adjustable shocks and fresh bushes all round, and a four-link in the rear, mean that the old girl now goes round corners with ease and points in the right direction each time Bevan turns the wheel or buries his boot. However, now that the car is closer to the tarmac, it does make trips backwards and forwards from weddings a bit more interesting. When the SS is loaded up with the bridal party on bumpy back roads, sparks have been known to leap out from underneath on more than one occasion. A 5mm plate under the sump has been a necessary upgrade to keep the oil inside where it belongs, rather than splattered all over the pavement. The trans is a fully manualized TH350; Bevan admits that it really is too light for the application — which translates to mean that his right foot is too heavy. It is on to its second rebuild so far, and a TH400 is on the cards when the budget allows. Bevan’s fiddling and personalizing has continued inside. The gorgeous teal-coloured cloth interior was ripped out by Brendan Retter and replaced with a much more staunch-looking black ensemble. The sound on the inside is just as good as the sound on the outside, Sony and Soundstream providing the majority of the acoustics, while a pair of 12-inch Rockford Fosgate subs in the trunk fill in the gaps with some serious kidney-rattling bass, driven by an 1800W amp. Bevan says that the car is pretty much to his liking; the only things really left on the to-do list are a trip to the panel beater for some love and attention and a proper paint job. He’s happy with the ‘bench-slops brown’ for now — he feels that it gives the car a touch of mongrel, and it gives him a bit of a laugh when he overhears people picking holes in it. “This ain’t no trailer queen; she’s been built to be driven,” he says — which is exactly what he, partner Deb, and young son Finn do whenever there is some spare petrol money that needs to be turned into noise and tyre smoke. Let’s just hope that someone hides the whisky bottle, though, as you never know what might happen next time the Good Bastards come round for a visit; who knows what might end up in the shed!