Brian's 67 dart
Finding a complete 340 proved to be a difficult task, in fact, I never did. The usual reply to queries related to finding one would include something about a 360 and how plentiful they were. I would be reminded that you start out with more cubes which means cheaper power and more low end torque at no extra charge; and they are so easy to find!
Nothing against a 360 mind you, they are perhaps the king of small blocks. The sky is the limit for power and almost the limit for cubic inches. If embarrassing the bow tie guys was my end the 360 would be my means. However, if the end in view is the re-satisfaction of a desire born decades ago, then the means must be in the image of that which gave it its birth.
For a kid coming of age in the early 70s, cars would be an extension of yourself. It was who you were. Not just any car would do, it had to wear the right colors. As 1972 was moving into history, Chevrolet was the badge of respect that this kid wanted. A 327 57 Chevrolet was the object of my dreams. If that was to be denied, a 67 SS Chevelle would do just fine. For over 5 years I had lived and breathed Chevys. Anybody that needed help putting in a clutch or swapping a motor found a willing helper in this kid. If it wore a Bow Tie it was somewhat magical. If it was a 327, it was treated with reverence.
I finished High School by attending a Tech school my senior year. They gave me the credits needed for graduation and it was something I loved. They turned us loose at 1:00 in the afternoon if we had a job in the field we were studying. I was taking auto mechanics and found a job at a VW repair shop in the afternoons. The guys that ran it even sold me a little Beatle and took a little out of my pay each week to pay for it. I would have about an hour to get to work from school. The actual time needed to get there was about 15 minutes, so I had some time to kill each day.
One of my friends and I would use that time to visit the local car lots and admire the beauties adorned with the Bow Tie. We would raise the hoods to discover the beasts of power; sit in the drivers seat and caress the shifter; and when possible, we would bring the beast to life and hear it roar. We never abused them, we respected them too much.
On one of our visits to the used car lot of the Toyota dealer, the salesman pointed out a new arrival. It was a 69 Dodge Dart Swinger with a 340 and a 4 speed. Neither my friend nor I were very impressed. The salesman tossed me the keys and told me to drive it. I will never forget turning to my friend Roger and saying lets give it a try, it might keep up with a 283. As soon as we got out of sight of the dealer, we decided to find a place and see if it would lay any rubber. We didnt want to marry a Dodge, it was just a one night stand and it was OK to abuse it.
The feel of the car was not like I had expected. The shifter felt good and the engine had a sound of authority. I pushed down on the throttle and was amazed at the response you could feel the power pressing you against the seat.
We arrived at our favorite spot for laying drags. It was side street that crossed a long steep hill. You could turn right and kick it at the same time and make almost anything spin a tire. We were not prepared for what we were about to do. We turned the Dodge up the hill and punched it. It didnt move! Smoke began to engulf the entire car, I slammed it into second and backed off the throttle just enough to get the car moving forward. By now, I was reving the engine like it was in neutral by modulating the gas pedal, vroom!, vroom!, vroom! Couldnt see out of the car and we were afraid the tires were going to blow we let off and went on up the hill. We circled around to see the mark we had left. Two things greeted us as we returned to the intersection: the longest black mark we had ever seen and a bunch of irate home owners who threatened to take out a warrant for us if they ever saw that car there again.
I drove it to work and convinced the 2 fellows I worked for to co-sign with me to get it. Over the next few weeks, I was shocked to discover that the mighty Bow Tie beasts that roamed the streets of Gainesville, GA were not the terrors I thought they were. Most of the street action was red light to red light. 396 Chevelles, 350 Camaros, Mustangs, and so many others were no match for my Swinger. The Bow Ties that I once reverenced had proved to be more bark than bite.
The little car became much more than just that to me. The pleasure I got from just driving it was immense. The feel of mid range acceleration as it pressed you into the seat; the deep throaty sound of the 340, the moan of the AVS when the back barrels were opened, and chirping the tires with ease in any gear was a grand experience! I loved to wash it and just look at it. I still remember the feel of the power bulges in the hood as I would wax over them; the way the rear stripe lay on the rear of the car, the green paint and the white vinyl which made it stand out so, and sound of the 340 as it just sat there and idled!
I loved and respected that car as much as I have anything I have ever owned. Its soul was that wonderful 340! Thats why a 360 wont do! If I am going to build a car to enjoy, it would be adultery to have anything else.
Please forgive this stroll down memory lane. I will return to the present restoration next installment.
Brian