Although I have made my sentiments known, I reiterate that there are only two 1960s American cars I’d want to own and drive: any Corvair with a four-speed (preferably a ‘65 or later), and a small-block ‘63 to ‘67 Corvette. No big blocks (which ruin the car’s balance), and no Barrett-Jackson queens with every option in the book (I can’t stand the backup light, which ruins an otherwise cute ass on the ‘67 C2s; still, I wouldn’t kick one out of bed).
If you have driven a C2 Corvette without power steering or brakes, you know that you don’t need that crap. The manual steering is light and delightfully positive. The non-power brakes on my friend’s ’66 are direct and progressive. And please, forget air conditioning, or any other option that normal human beings didn’t order at that time. Ever tried to work in the engine compartment of these things? Tight. Painful!
This ‘64 is my dream car.
Although factory side pipes were available, I never liked their looks (but I did love their sound); a pair of glass-packs could be a satisfactory alternative.
I shot this ‘64 C2 in Chestertown, MD, in 2009. The original owner had bought the car in his younger days. Eventually he sold it, and had rued the decision until 2008, when he found the car again, bought it back, and then restored it.
I’m no lover of hubcaps (my father would have caned me for this–they were “wheel covers”) or whitewalls (yucko mundo!), but on this car they are perfect. I’d go with them.
My 1960 Plymouth Fury had a white exterior and a red interior. Perfecto mundo! Transfer that to a “64 Vette, and I don’t know if I could describe my emotions in a CC-compliant manner.
White exterior–PN orgiastic. Red interior–not exactly what Klockau is Coocoo for Coco Puffs over, but I love it.
This is my dream car.
Unfortunately, a restored ‘65 C2 with the same specs as the subject car went for $57,750 at the recent Barrett-Jackson Reno auction. And so, a ‘64-’66 Vette will continue to be a dream, but nothing more.
I drove a friend’s ’66 300-horse 327 in the late ‘60s. Fun stuff. Providing you weren’t into stoplight grand prix (or didn’t feel sexually challenged driving a car with less than 425 hp), it was really a sweet package.
This car was not over-restored. The owner simply brought it back to the state in which he first fell in love with it.
I’m still in love.