budnate
03-24-2005, 08:35 PM
In the June '98 issue, I recounted my impressions of the first ZL-1 Camaro tested by a car magazine, a "stocker" from COPO magnet of the world Fred Gibb Chevrolet. The engine had been given a thorough valve adjustment, a properly jetted Holley, and equal-length tube headers applied by Dick Harrell's crew. The TH400 fed torque to 4.10:1 axle ratio, thence to woefully inadequate M&H Stock Eliminator slicks that were barely 7 inches across. The aluminum 427, belting out in the neighborhood of 500 hp and as much grunt, made a bonfire of those skinny balonies. Despite ambient temps in the teens plus a brisk wind, the ZL-1 Camaro eventually laid down mid-11s at 122-and-change on a track surface that might as well have been plate glass.
Always the thinker, Harrell had a second car trucked into to St. Louis International Raceway that frigid afternoon--his Don Hardy-built '69 AHRA Pro Stock Camaro. Once the fiberglass hood flew off like a piece of toilet paper, the intention was quite clear: Holleys on a big tunnel ram jutted up from the engine valley. There were no inner fender panels, only flimsy fiberglass fenders covering the front wheels. The engine made about 700 hp, but the torque went through a clutch-Turbo trans. Thankfully, this contraption and the Clutch-Flites that joined them for a short period were soon eclipsed by the high-stall-speed torque converter.
Compared to the street car, this Camaro was a violent SOB. "Here," said Harrell with devious gleam in soft, friendly eyes. "Let's go for a ride." Cool, I thought, but there was only one seat in Dickie's car and he was already in it. "Grab the rollcage in a couple of places, yeah, there and there, and hang on!" Pretty soon I would be thinking like a monkey in a space shuttle. At least the monkey was strapped down.
It was so cold that even moonshine under the tires wouldn't heat 'em up, so Dickie ripped a dry burnout or two. I flipped backwards and hit the place where the rear seat used to be. Dick didn't seem to notice, but I heard him snicker. Harrell stood on it and let the clutch fly. The engine bellowed and snatched the front wheels off the tarmac. When he yanked Second, the car flattened out and scarfed asphalt quicker than any ride I'd ever been in. Suddenly the old puke about driving it like you didn't have a dime in it made complete sense. Harrell was brutal, a master at it. He pushed High and we ripped the trap with a 10.55. I don't remember the speed. Dick was happy with the runs, but I was a lot happier when I discovered I'd just been on the Camaro's maiden splash.
--RM
cool story.. http://www.yenko.net/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/flag.gif
Always the thinker, Harrell had a second car trucked into to St. Louis International Raceway that frigid afternoon--his Don Hardy-built '69 AHRA Pro Stock Camaro. Once the fiberglass hood flew off like a piece of toilet paper, the intention was quite clear: Holleys on a big tunnel ram jutted up from the engine valley. There were no inner fender panels, only flimsy fiberglass fenders covering the front wheels. The engine made about 700 hp, but the torque went through a clutch-Turbo trans. Thankfully, this contraption and the Clutch-Flites that joined them for a short period were soon eclipsed by the high-stall-speed torque converter.
Compared to the street car, this Camaro was a violent SOB. "Here," said Harrell with devious gleam in soft, friendly eyes. "Let's go for a ride." Cool, I thought, but there was only one seat in Dickie's car and he was already in it. "Grab the rollcage in a couple of places, yeah, there and there, and hang on!" Pretty soon I would be thinking like a monkey in a space shuttle. At least the monkey was strapped down.
It was so cold that even moonshine under the tires wouldn't heat 'em up, so Dickie ripped a dry burnout or two. I flipped backwards and hit the place where the rear seat used to be. Dick didn't seem to notice, but I heard him snicker. Harrell stood on it and let the clutch fly. The engine bellowed and snatched the front wheels off the tarmac. When he yanked Second, the car flattened out and scarfed asphalt quicker than any ride I'd ever been in. Suddenly the old puke about driving it like you didn't have a dime in it made complete sense. Harrell was brutal, a master at it. He pushed High and we ripped the trap with a 10.55. I don't remember the speed. Dick was happy with the runs, but I was a lot happier when I discovered I'd just been on the Camaro's maiden splash.
--RM
cool story.. http://www.yenko.net/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/flag.gif