I wanted to learn how to fix cars, so I hired on to a NASCAR Nationwide (nee' Sportsman) team. The owner needed a gopher, and the smarter the gopher, the fewer the screw-ups...or so he reckoned. While my buddy got to spend a lot more time around the racer than I did, my tasks at the time centered around the transporter.
The transporter was an old 1950 4-ton Ford with duals and a ramp bed on it. The motor was a tired 352 that had been in it for at least ten years. I was given an old race block that was no longer race worthy and a camshaft of unknown lift and duration. The rest of the components were spares and obsolete junk we had in the shop. What I wound up with was a 433 CID engine topped with double pumper Holley.
Using what I knew, and getting help when ignorance took over, I got the engine together and in the truck. I spun the motor on the starter, but it didn't light. Damn! I got my remote starter control out and hooked it up. Then I climbed up on the truck, sat on the radiator, and stuck my feet on either side of the engine. Thinking I wasn't getting fuel to the engine, I pressed the starter button looking down the Holley and working the throttle to see if the accelerator pumps were working.
BLAM! The big Ford fired through an open valve turning the Holley into a flamethrower. I only got a first degree burn on the face. The bad part was that it singed my hair and completely eliminated my eye brows and eye lashes. The final injustice was that it singed the hair in my nose. It was two days before the smell became tolerable.
